The Great October Drabble Challenge
by Entwinedlove
Summary: Complete. / Three groups I'm in are hosting a 31-day prompt challenge for October and I'm going to try to fulfil all of them. Rated M to cover everything. Multiple pairings, both canon and rare.
1. 001 Shameless Fluff

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 1, Prompt: Shameless Fluff

Pairing: James/Lily

word count: 261

"James, come take a walk with me," Lily said, holding out her hand for him to take. He did, standing and interlacing his fingers with hers. Lily led him outside and they walked along the path behind his parents' house. Red and orange leaves crackled underfoot and though James seemed a little impatient the only way he expressed it was by swinging their hands between them.

When she stopped to look out over a small circle of undisturbed leaves he finally asked, "What's wrong, Lily?"

"Nothing's wrong." She paused and looked at him. His hair was still just as messy as the day they wed, though now there might have been some grey hairs in with the black from chasing Harry. There were a few fine wrinkles around his eyes and mouth from laughter, nothing too noticeable on his still youthful face.

"I'm preg—"

"You're pregnant."

They said it together and both smiled at each other. "How did you know?"

"I pay attention to you, Lily. I notice when you push your breakfast plate away and cover your nose. I know when you dart out of bed in the mornings, even when you come back. And..."

She recognised the mischievous grin on his face and braced herself to ask. "And?" His eyes dropped from hers and focused on her chest before looking back up to her, still grinning. "Oh, you!" she laughed, knowing he'd probably noticed her breasts getting bigger first. After she calmed she asked, "Are you ready to be a parent of two?"

"Most definitely. I love you, Lily."


	2. 002 Autumn

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 1, Prompt: Autumn

word count: 343

Mrs Figg was awoken by a consistent but annoying sound.

"Meow!" One her many cats said. It took a moment for her still sleepy mind to recognise the vocalisation of Mr Tibbles, her orange part-kneazle. "Meoooow," he said again, more insistent this time. He reached up and patted her cheek, meowing again.

"What is it, Mr Tibbles?"

He did nothing but meow and paw her face again.

She sighed and pulled back the covers, feeling the chill in the early morning air. Her feet sought out their slippers automatically and she reached up and grabbed her dressing gown, wrapping it tightly around her body and belting it. She knew Tibbles might wake her up for food but he was a good mouser and most likely had something important to show her.

He darted ahead of her and turned to watch her to make sure she was following. He stopped once at the back door to look back over his shoulder and then slipped out of the little flap in the centre of the door.

Arabella unlocked the door and braced herself for the cold air as it whirled around her ankles.

"Meow!" Mr Tibbles said again.

She followed him over to the corner of the yard behind two scrubby bushes that normally had dark green leaves. Then she heard another meow. Small, scared, and higher pitched than any of her other cats. There, half buried in in the frost and crispy autumn leaves was a baby kitten. She was curled so tightly on herself to stay warm, Arabella wasn't sure how to pick her up at first.

She looked up at Tibbles. "Why didn't you just bring her inside yourself?" Tibbles just stuck his nose in the air and twitched his fluffy white-tufted tail. She looked back at the kitten and reached down to pick her up. There was crunchy frost stuck in her fur and Arabella tucked the kitten inside her dressing gown and hurried back inside.

"Mew!" the little one said once she was inside and warm.

"Yes, Snowy. You're home."


	3. 003 Antonin & Alecto

**Death Eater Express** , Day 1: Prompt:

Alecto Carrow / Animagi / Antonin Dolohov / "Get off me, witch" / there's room for two

word count: 289

Antonin Dolohov was walking down the corridor on the way to his bedroom, tired from attending the Dark Lord most of the day. He'd long since started ignoring the doors on his path but one slammed open as he passed and he froze to watch the commotion.

A fat, gray rat with a long, ropey tail darted out of the room, between his legs and down the hall. Antonin's eyebrows raised when he saw what followed it.

A young woman, one of the Dark Lord's newer followers wrapped up in only a black, silk sheet with her hair tumbling down around her face and shoulders. "Wait!" she shouted at the Animagus, no doubt disturbing the others that had rooms down this hall. She shifted on her feet and her bottom lip poked out in a delectable pout.

Antonin shook his head and turned to continue on to his room when the girl spotted him. She stalked towards him like a panther towards prey and raised a hand to his chest. He looked down at her hand on his chest.

"My name's Alecto Carrow, and you are?" she asked him. Her attempts at seduction clumsy. This close he noticed how short she was and how stubby her fingers were as she gripped tight the fabric of his robes.

"Get off me, witch," Antonin sneered, his Russian accent barely noticeable. His words gave her cause to step back and he brushed her hand away and strode down the hall. He did not look back at the witch as he shut his door but he did lock and ward the room. He had no wish to tangle with a witch thirty years younger than him, especially not one that mingled with Animagi.


	4. 004 A Rare Pair

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 2, Prompt: a rare pair

pairing: Severus/Ginny

word count: 422

"You're late for your detention, Miss Weasley," Severus said, watching as she stopped several feet from his desk.

She opened her mouth but didn't speak at first. She shivered and then a whispered, "Headmaster," slipped from her.

Severus flicked his wand in a tight circle and a thin black film covered all the portraits in the space, rendering every last one blind, deaf, and dumb. He was out of his chair and in front of her before she could get another word out. "Ginny," he whispered, holding her upper arms in a light grip.

She brought her hands from behind her back and he could see the telltale twitches from a recent bout of the Cruciatus Curse. "He was trying to get the seventh years to torture the first years. I stopped them and became the object lesson."

Severus pulled a small vial from his pocket and uncorked it. Before he could explain what it was she shook her head.

"I don't want to play, Professor."

His mouth twisted for a moment. He guided her head, with the lightest touch to her chin, to look up at him. "I know you crave the domination. I crave the aftercare. Let me take care of you. This is to help with the tremors but you'll need to lay down and rest; do you want to return to your dormitory?"

She offered him a half-smile. "Will you hold me?"

"Of course." He helped her sip from the vial and then swept her up into his arms, taking her to his bed. He undressed both of them efficiently down to their undergarments and tucked her under his duvet. He climbed in behind her and wrapped his body around hers, content to feel her pressed against him.

He only knew a fraction of the things Tom Riddle's diary had done to her. He knew it had skewed her perception of the world and intimacy. Now, when she should be experiencing first kisses and harmless crushes, she craved physical domination, humiliation, and pain. She hadn't asked for sex yet but he had no doubt she would with time. He felt as she shifted slightly and knew what was coming. It had horrified him the first time she'd done it but now as she picked up his hand and wrapped it around her throat, he might have understood her need for the grounding effect it gave her. He squeezed lightly, just enough to threaten her air supply and then relaxed his grip.

He'd kiss her awake with the dawn.


	5. 005 Party

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 2, Prompt: party

word count: 453

Argus Filch hated parties, or rather celebrations of every kind. All those happy, socialising people laughing and smiling. It was all overrated. Well, he assumed it was all overrated, seeing as how he'd never been invited to one before, but he was positive that the entire thing was rubbish.

He especially hated the Head-of-House-sanctioned parties after a Quidditch win. He grumbled under his breath as he tread in front of the Hufflepuff corridor, ready to catch any of the little cretins out of bounds after curfew. They could party all they wanted inside the common room but if they so much as stepped foot into his domain, they'd regret it.

Just then one of the barrel lids slid open and a student tumbled out. "Detention for yo—"

"Wotcher, Mr Filch!" was her cheery greeting. He frowned at her. He knew that greeting. Nymphadora Tonks! He'd had the little hellion in detention several times over the years. She stood up tall next to him—when did she get so tall?—and smiled brightly at him. "What are you doing out here? Would you like to come in? We've got some pumpkin juice and butterbeers, lots of sweets, and maybe even some popcorn."

Argus narrowed his eyes on the cheeky seventh year, sure she was going to retract her offer and tell him to bugger off yet she didn't. She hooked her arm around his and tapped the little jingle to get back into the common room and practically pulled him into the barrel and out the other side.

He looked around with awe and wonder at the best common room he'd ever seen. He'd never stepped foot in any of the common rooms, but he had no doubts that this one must be the best. The walls were a warm, mustard yellow. There were windows high up on the walls to allow sunlight during the day, and potted plants everywhere. The wooden barrel and warm yellows were a theme throughout the space and it made him feel warm and tingly inside.

Several of the students looked at him and he was sure they were worried and suspicious, but then a younger one came up and greeted him. "Hello, Mr Filch, would you care for a butterbeer?" He asked.

Argus's bottom lip trembled slightly and his eyes prickled; he couldn't find his voice and only nodded and then he had a little glass bottle in his hand and was being led to a cushy couch with others. He didn't speak much with any of them but the warm feeling in his belly lingered even after the party came to a close and he returned to his rooms. Maybe parties weren't such a bad thing after all.


	6. 006 Hermione & Thorfinn

**Death Eater Express** , Day 2, Prompt:

Thorfinn Rowle / Hermione Granger / "Trick or Treat?" / "I was counting all my candy when all of a sudden..."

word count: 196

Hermione was lost in a swirl of the nonsensical.

She'd been at the Department of Mysteries with Harry and their friends. She'd recognised Death Eaters from their wanted posters. Thorfinn Rowle, Antonin Dolohov, Bellatrix Lestrange. Their faces grew large in her mind's eyes and swirled around her. Rabastan Lestrange's head, shrinking to that of a baby and then returning to its original size.

It reminded her of the tale of Sleepy Hollow and the headless horsemen. The ghosts at school and Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday feast on Halloween. Rabastan's baby's head reminded her of pumpkins and a weird American telly show she saw when she was younger. "I was counting my candy when all of a sudden..." the high-pitched story echoed in her head.

Thorfinn Rowle, his crazy eyes and wild, dirty mane of blond hair bloody, was in her face. "Trick or treat?" he taunted. Purple fire roared around her and in his eyes. There was pain in her chest and she gasped awake.

She was staring at the ceiling of the hospital wing. Beside her, sleeping in the low candlelight was Remus Lupin, looking as ragged as she felt. How did she get here?


	7. 007 Family

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 3, Prompt: family

word count: 438

Sirius Black played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team during his second and third year. In his second year, when his family didn't come to cheer him on, he thought that maybe they were too busy or not fans of Quidditch. He knew they weren't happy with him for being sorted Gryffindor but they couldn't still be mad about that, could they?

In his third year, his younger brother Regulus tried out of the Slytherin team and made Seeker. He was proud of his younger brother and knew if he ever got his brother alone—it wouldn't do to embarrass him among his friends—he'd congratulate him.

The first time his parents showed up to a Quidditch match it was a Slytherin–Hufflepuff game and Sirius was shocked. He might have been a little disappointed it hadn't been one of his games but he liked watching Regulus play too. A week before the next game, Sirius wrote a letter home—in secret: he'd already told his friends in Gryffindor that it didn't bother him—reminding his family that he was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and that there was a game the following week.

The Black family did not show during the Gryffindor–Ravenclaw game.

Sirius wanted to think that maybe it was just bad timing but when they showed for the Slytherin–Ravenclaw game and not the Gryffindor–Hufflepuff, it was just too obvious. They didn't care. Of course, they didn't.

It was no surprise that he saw them in the Slytherin stands for the final game. It was a good game, even with Sirius sending the Bludger towards his brother out of spite a few too many times. (It's not like it hit him!) Gryffindor won and yet still, his parents greeted Regulus on the field and they stood not ten feet from him, congratulating him on a good game and job well done.

His parents walked right past him and the only thing that gave away the fact that Walburga was ignoring him was that damn sniff she would do as if even his presence was foul. Regulus walked toward him as well and Sirius whispered, "leave me alone," at him.

"Sirius—" Regulus tried again.

"Leave me alone!" Sirius shouted and ran. He ran all the way back to the castle from the pitch and even then, he didn't stop running until he'd found a place to hide. He couldn't return to the common room, not yet. There would be celebrating their win over Slytherin and Sirius didn't feel like celebrating; he didn't feel like he'd won anything.

Later, when Harry asked if he'd played for Gryffindor with his dad, Sirius told him no.


	8. 008 Pumpkins

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 3, Prompt: pumpkins

word count: 199

It was a few days before Hallowe'en of Vera Montcastle's first year at Hogwarts. As she spun her spoon in the weird mush that she thought might be porridge but had all the flavour of cardboard she wondered if there was going to be anything about her experience here in Britain or in Hogwarts that would be familiar. Hallowe'en meant trick-or-treating and candy, jack-o'-lanterns and black cats.

She remembered drawing on pumpkins with a black marker for her dad to carve. Her drawings were crude and simple, she wasn't that great of an artist, but she wondered about how it would be to use magic to do it. Were Wizarding jack-o'-lanterns really intricate? Did wizards even carve pumpkins? Did the British?

Vera sighed and wondered if she could make her oatmeal taste like something. Did they have shredded cheese in Hogwarts? How would she even go about asking for some?

When Vera was lying in her bed on Hallowe'en night she couldn't even remember if she'd seen pumpkins decorating the Great Hall. Instead, her mind was spinning with thoughts about the message written in red on the walls. What was the Chamber of Secrets and who was the Heir?

* * *

AN: Vera is an American OC. I plan to start posting her story in January.


	9. 009 Narcissa, Bella, Rodolphus

**Death Eater Express** , Day 3, Prompt:

Bellatrix Lestrange / Rodolphus Lestrange / Narcissa Malfoy / "What do you mean the Killing Curse isn't a trick?" / "You're ruining Samhain!" / "This is why covens disbanded. Everyone wants to grow a conscience in company."

word count: 604

Fifteen-year-old Narcissa just wanted to worship the old gods. She vaguely remembered how Great-Grandmother Violetta would lead the women in the family through the rites but it had been seven years since she'd passed and the coven had fallen apart.

The girls, and one boy, surrounding her now reminded her nothing of the rites Violetta used to lead with great-aunt Cassie, her grandmother Irma, and her mother. There was her big sister Bellatrix and her husband, Rodolphus, both chattering away and ignoring the propriety. Aveline Rosier, the squib cousin who was a few years younger that Narcissa even, who was playing with the goat that Narcissa had meant to sacrifice, and Narcissa's two best friends, Georgia Montague and Adelaide Lestrange.

"All right," Narcissa said, trying to bring the group together again after she realised that she didn't have the proper ceremonial knife for killing the goat. She'd just have to improvise. She hoped the house-elves would be able to get any blood stains out of her clothes later. "We need to cleanse and renew the circle before we sacrifice the goat—"

"What? Why? Why would you sacrifice Lettie?" Aveline asked, wrapping her arms around the goat's neck to protect it.

"Because that's what's we're here to do. We're sacrificing a goat to the old gods, I told you this," Narcissa answered, rushed words as quiet as possible. Sometimes she thought Aveline might be touched in the head on top of being a squib, but she was only twelve so maybe she was just naive.

"Oh, shut up already!" Bella grumbled. She nonchalantly flicked her wand and cast a green spell that struck Aveline in the back. Aveline crumbled where she stood.

"Bella! What are you doing? Wake her up, we need her!" Narcissa demanded of her sister.

"Funny trick," Adelaide added, smirking.

"The Killing Curse isn't a trick," Bella answered, sneering at her.

Narcissa felt the blood drain from her face and she swayed on her feet. "What do you mean 'the Killing Curse isn't a trick?' What did..." she looked back at the body of her cousin, limbs in a pile at the feet of the goat who was licking her face. She looked like she was sleeping, but... Narcissa stared harder, willing the flickering light from the fire to hold still. She had to see if Aveline was breathing. Bella had to be joking, teasing, she couldn't have just...

"You're ruining Samhain!" Narcissa screamed at her sister, clenching her fists at her side and stomping her foot.

"You needed a sacrifice, you got one," Rodolphus added, his voice rough and deep. It always sent shivers down Narcissa's spine.

"But..." Narcissa looked at her friends. Adelaide returned the look with interest. She, like her brother, thought squibs weren't worth the air or the food meant to keep them alive. She probably had no qualms using a human for a sacrifice. Georgia's eyes were wide and terrified and she hadn't uttered a word the entire time. She, like Aveline, had a tender spot for animals but she would never have tried to stop Narcissa from her plan to sacrifice one.

"This is why covens disbanded," Bella said to Rodolphus, rolling her eyes and shaking her head, "Everyone wants to grow a conscience in company." They both chuckled at her comment and turned to face Narcissa, seemingly daring her to run away or threaten to tell her father.

"Fine," Narcissa said, gritting her teeth but still speaking with perfect diction, "We'll just use her." She pointed her wand at Aveline's body and levitated it onto the stone altar where she'd planned to put the goat.


	10. 010 Something You Don't Ship

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 4, Prompt: something you don't ship

Pairing: Harry/Voldemort

word count: 255

Harry's breathing picked up until he was panting heavily. There was the lightest touch against his nipple like a snake's tongue coming out to taste the air and the sensation did wonderful things to his bollocks. He moaned and his partner did it again. Then a hot, wet mouth enclosed over the nipple and sucked.

His hips bucked up against his partner. Then their hand reached down and fisted over his cock. Not just Harry's, no, they'd wrapped their long fingers tightly around his cock and their own, squeezing them together. They worked their hand up and down slowly at first, to make sure the sensation was as pleasurable as they'd intended then they sped up. Harry whined and pumped his hips loving the way his foreskin rubbed his against theirs.

Suddenly the sensation was too much and he groaned, they groaned too, and then Harry's stomach was covered in their combined white cream. He opened his eyes to see his lover. Shocked red eyes stared at him from out of a pale face.

Harry started violently enough to wake himself up. He panted as he took stock of the situation. His flannel pyjama top was pulled up and his own spunk covered his stomach. His cock had worked its way up so that the head and foreskin were trapped under the band of his pyjama bottoms which explained the delicious friction.

As he used a corner of his sheet to clean himself he shuddered; no one was ever going to learn about that dream.


	11. 011 Apples

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 4, Prompt: apples

Pairing: Arthur/Molly

word count: 500

"So, what do you think?" Arthur asked. His hands were on his hips as he surveyed the expanse of rolling land and tall apple trees.

Molly, not wanting to be too critical, answered, "It's a lovely apple orchard."

Arthur looked at her and smiled. He pointed toward the small valley between the rows of trees. "I think we'll build the Burrow over there."

She looked in the direction he was pointing and then back to him. "The Burrow?"

He nodded and looked out over their new domain again. "A cosy little place, a den of sorts, where we can live and grow old and raise our children." He looked back at her and his gaze dropped to belly. She felt heat suffuse her face. It was such as odd thing, knowing she was going to have a baby, but not seeing any actual evidence of it yet.

"Did we hear that right?" A voice spoke out from behind a tree trunk a dozen feet away. Fabian's head appeared from behind the trunk to go with the voice. "Is our baby sister having a baby?"

"I don't know, Fabe," Gideon answered, hopping down from the branch he'd been sitting on. He bit into an apple he held in his hand and crunched the bite a few times before adding. "Could have just been wishful thinking, I suppose."

Molly's embarrassed flush quickly turned to anger at her brothers. "Don't you dare tell Mum and Dad!" she shouted, putting her hands on her hips in an attempt to intimidate them.

"Oooo, already a baby before the wedding. What do you think, Gid, should we squeal on her?"

It was Arthur who answered. "Please don't," he said, his voice didn't hold anger like Molly's or pleading. It was just a solemn, quiet two words. "We might have got started a little early," he said, glancing from the twins who were stopped mid-step as they advanced on Molly, "but I love her. She's going to be my wife and the mother of my children."

"Aw, mate," Gideon said, shrugging off the solemnity of Arthur's words, "We're just being brotherly prats. Congratulations and all that."

"Apple?" Fabian asked, holding out a shiny red one towards Arthur, a peace offering.

Arthur gave a pointed look at the apple in Fabian's hand and then pinned him with a look. "That belongs to me."

Fabian grinned and ducked, before laughing and tossing the apple at Arthur. His Disapparition caused a loud CRACK to shatter the early morning quiet before Arthur could even catch the apple that was thrown at him.

Molly was still fuming but Gideon just gave her a wave using the hand that was still clutching his fruity breakfast. He Disapparated quieter than his brother. Arthur smiled to himself as he watched Molly fluster and tidy her dress. "Well?" he asked.

She stopped fidgeting and looked up at him, loving shinning in her eyes as the fury at her brothers faded with their absence. "I love it."


	12. 012 Antonin & Hermione

**Death Eater Express** , Day 4, Prompt:

Antonin Dolohov / Hermione Granger / pumpkins / "you can't live off whisky and sweets"

word count: 720

Hermione decided she would go shopping in Hogsmeade. Hagrid had a tendency to sell his overabundance of enormous pumpkins from a market stall near the Hogs Head for a pittance and she wanted one to decorate the front stoop of her little house.

She Apparated at the edge of town near the remnants of the Shrieking Shack. Her eyes travelled over the burnt shell the building used to be and reminded herself to light a candle for Severus Snape and Remus Lupin. She probably should light a candle for all the fallen from the final battle of Hogwarts but she didn't have enough shelf space for that sort of thing. For that sort of remembrance, she'd need to visit the memorial on Hogwarts school grounds and she didn't have time for that. She'd gone in May for the tenth anniversary of the end of the war.

She took a deep breath and started down the street. She wanted to browse Tomes and Scrolls for that new cookbook Hannah had published and see if they had the newest potions periodical because her copy had arrived by owl during a rainstorm and damaged the outer pages.

After that, she stopped by Hagrid's stall and decided which pumpkin she wanted to purchase. There was a tiny sign next to them that said, "At Three Broomsticks for dinner!" Hermione looked at her watch and nodded to herself. When had it become some late? She huffed and headed toward the pub. She may as well grab a bite to eat as well. She hadn't thought to pull anything out for dinner and she had an important meeting tomorrow with the Minister for Magic. It wouldn't do to eat a microwave dinner and have herself feeling bloated and uncomfortable.

The Three Broomsticks was packed with customers. She made her way to the bar and told Rosemerta that she'd like a Gillywater and a bowl of butternut squash soup. The proprietor nodded and gestured towards the back wall. She said something but then a table of rowdy patrons nearby broke out into laughter and cheers. Hermione assumed Rosemerta was telling her to have a seat and she'd be served shortly. The back wall had fewer tables but a quick glance over them showed that most of them were full. There was one that had one patron, a man, his head down and his hands holding a glass in front of him.

It was really the only table that had room. Hermione made her way to it, sure that if she was polite the lone occupant wouldn't mind sharing the table. She approached and pulled out the chair, sitting down.

The patron didn't move until she was fully seated. He looked up at her and pierced her with dark eyes in a scarred, aged but familiar face. Her sharp intake of breath probably wasn't noticeable but he noticed when her hands clenched into fists. It was all she could do not to draw her wand. She knew better. He'd been incarcerated in Azkaban after the war and she was sure he must have been legally released sometime in the last year or two. Antonin Dolohov wouldn't be sitting here in a crowded pub if he were still a wanted man.

His eyes traveled over her face, taking in the changes. She knew she had gained wrinkles and a little weight in the ten years since the war, but she was still Hermione Granger: bushy-haired and plain, swot extraordinaire.

Her eyes wandered over the table, looking for something to say that would break the tension that his presence had caused in her. On the table between his hands was a glass of amber liquid. Closer to him was a small pile of sweet wrappers from Honeydukes.

"You can't live off of whisky and sweets," she said, hoping her nerves would hold and she could sound like she was chiding him.

His eyes met hers and his lips quirked slightly before he glanced down at the pile of rubbish in front of him. He looked back up at her and smiled a bit more widely. She still wouldn't have called it a full smile, but it lit his face in a way that didn't make him look quite so terrifying. "No, I s'pose I can't," he said.

She returned the smile.


	13. 013 Friends

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 5, Prompt: friends

word count: 444

Gregory scratched his fingers against the rough material that passed for a mattress on the Ministry-standard cot in his cell, seeking out a loose thread and digging at the stitch until the next one broke and the thread lengthened.

He was grumpy and in a foul mood since... well, things had been weird during seventh year. He'd ascended the school hierarchy, hadn't he? Him and Vincent. They'd ruled Slytherin, they'd ruled over all the Houses... but that wasn't why he was grumpy. No, he was grumpy because during the final battle, the one where his best friend had _died_ , he'd run away like a coward. Draco had told him to get out, to run, and he'd done it, but it hadn't mattered.

The Aurors had come, wrecking his father's house, possibly destroying his mother's only portrait in the process, and arrested him. It wasn't until a week later, a week of isolation in this cramped, stale cell that he'd even been told his father had died.

 _Died._

First Vincent and then his dad. He didn't want to believe it, and at first he didn't, but the more he thought about it, the more it settled into his bones.

He was the last of the pathetic House of Goyle, whatever that meant. His family hadn't been prominent for many years and he knew his father's goal in joining the Dark Lord had been to gain glory and prestige. Too bad it hadn't worked.

Gregory dug his nails into the mattress and when it gave too easily he tried the skin of his arm next. His nails were dirty, he noticed. There was still soot on his skin and he hadn't had a bath in over a week.

Soot from Vincent's fire.

The pain in his arm wasn't enough and he pinched at himself next, then thumped his meaty fist into his thighs. He couldn't stop seeing it. The fire. It roared in his head still, flames that formed animals, licking at everything, burning and turning everything they touched into ash. Vincent into ash.

His best friend.

His _only_ friend.

Gregory screamed, his voice hoarse from the lack of water and previous screams, and banged his head against the wall behind him. It hurt, but not enough. Not enough. Nothing could. No amount of physical irritation or damage or pain could hurt to take away the pain he felt inside.

If he ever got out, which he didn't think was going to happen (he wasn't a Death Eater, but he'd used enough Unforgivables on fellow students that they thought he was), he wouldn't even have a body to bury.

Gregory's mouth tasted like ashes. Ashes. Ashes.


	14. 014 Candy

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 5, Prompt: candy

word count: 252

Healer's journal - October

Healer Candelaria "Candy" Willcox

Working the Janus Thickery Ward this week. The range of patients in the long-term ward is shocking. Some are cognizant: chatting, amiable. Others are completely still, vegetables as the Muggle-borns call them. Unmoving, unaware. They would get bedsores and infections if not for the magic keeping them clean. There are low Levitation Charms on the beds that activate every few hours. They're tethered to the beds in case a miracle happens and they move on their own. And then there's the ones in between. Ambulatory, aware, but not home. Silent.

We have all kinds here.

There's one, ambulatory, sweet but silent, loves crinkling paper. I don't know who started it but one of her caregivers gave her a bucket of Droobles Best Blowing Gum ages ago and the woman loves unwrapping each piece. She doesn't eat it. Just sets it aside (we have a second bucket for unwrapped pieces) and crinkles the wrapper. She doesn't give them to anyone. Well, she gives them to one single visitor.

Sweet, shy young boy. I'm not privy to the information on visitors but I think it's her son.

It's sad really, that the only thing she can share with him is sweet wrappers. Some of the newer healers on rotation think she's trapped inside her mind and she's trying to communicate in code. The veterans say she's too far gone for that.

It seems pointless with the patients here but... I hope one day she gets better.


	15. 015 Severus

**Death Eater Express** , Day 5, Prompt:

Severus Snape / the Hogs Head / Polyjuice Potion / "It's the anniversary, isn't it?"

word count: 478

Severus Snape wondered if the new job Dumbledore gave him was worth it. He couldn't believe he'd actually agreed to work at the Hogs Head as a bartender. He hefted the case of Butterbeers up off the dusty floor and set them on the counter. The glasses clinked together noisily and Aberforth peeked his head out from behind the kitchen wall to glare at him. Severus tried not to cower under the old man's stare.

It was a job and it gave him an opportunity to work as a spy as Albus had wanted. The Dark Lord had seemed to understand when Severus grovelled and confessed with a great deal of embarrassment that he had needed to seek out employment. The Dark Lord was used to his Death Eaters being independently wealthy. He had told Severus that he would see what could be done about it but in the meantime, there wasn't anything wrong working menial jobs to establish rapport with others that might prove useful sometime later.

Severus just grit his teeth and hoisted the next case onto the counter. "How many cases did you say was needed, sir?" he called to his employer.

"At least four. It's a large party that Rosmerta needs it for. Take five. She's good for it. And for Merlin's sake, stop grunting, are you that weak?"

Severus was that weak in the arms, chest, and shoulders but he bit his tongue to stop the next noise that almost escaped from his mouth. He stacked the last case on top and aimed his wand at the stack to levitate it out the back door. If the wooden bar didn't have Anti-Summoning Charms he wouldn't have to do all that manual lifting. He sighed and directed his levitated stack of cases in front of him as he headed down the back alley to the door that would let him into the kitchens of The Three Broomsticks. He knocked and let himself in, pushing against the door with his back and bringing his cargo with him.

There were shouts of excitement and laughter already in the pub and he scowled at the noise. At least the Hogs Head was usually quiet. Severus set the cases on the bar top and looked up when he heard more laughter and cheers. There across the bar from him was Lily. She was there with the rest of the Gryffindor lot, smiling and sitting on Potter's lap.

What Severus wouldn't give for a cauldron of Polyjuice Potion in that moment.

Someone from another table called out to one of the Marauders. "It's their anniversary, isn't it?"

"Yep!" Black answered, "but we're not just celebrating James and Lily's first anniversary! They're having a baby!" His smile was blinding and Severus could feel bile rising up in his throat. He turned and fled. He'd have to collect Rosmerta's payment later.


	16. 016 Fandom

**AN:** The fandom I chose probably ages me a bit, but it's Highlander. At the time of the show (in the 90s) Methos was about 5,000 years old.

* * *

 **NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 6, Prompt: a fandom you love but never write for

word count: 388

Methos sat against the tree and listened to the babbling of the brook not far from him. It was immeasurably peaceful here, vastly different from the sand and blood he was used to. As he sat there, he contemplated time and what it meant.

Would time erase this tree and this brook, this wonderful little spot in the wilderness like it had erased his home? His people? His enemies? If he could sit here through time, without the worry of starving, would the earth swallow him whole? He imagined that the roots of the tree would grow over his feet. The moss would cling to his skin until it grew on him as if he were the tree. Was that what it meant to be immortal? Unmoving, unchanging?

No. He knew change. He'd seen his friendships change and grow apart until they were no longer the four horsemen but four raiders with different plans for their futures. What was the future to someone like him?

His stomach rumbled and he stood, ready and not ready to leave this place. He left his mark instead, the mark of Death, on the tree he'd claimed as his own. He doubted anyone in this place, or this time, would recognise it, but he'd claimed it nonetheless.

Death would continue on, trudging through the muck and the blood, and maybe the sand, but it would always continue. Maybe that's what it meant to be immortal.

* * *

[Bonus crossover snippet!]

* * *

The leaves rustled as the wind blew through the trees. Death of another kind had found its way here. The brook had turned into a wide, treacherous river and the elder tree had grown tall and gnarled, and Death walked here one of the few places that had his mark that allowed him to walk the earthly realm.

He liked this spot. The trees around were ancient and whispered amongst themselves as Death walked through them and he collected those unfortunate souls who attempted to ford the river. Despite his presence, this was a peaceful place. Deceitfully peaceful.

And then those brothers, wizards all, had come and ruined it. They'd built a bridge with magic so as to cross unimpeded. So Death had to fall back on his cunning and his wit; it had been a long time since he'd had to trick the dead into dying.


	17. 017 Falling Leaves

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 6, Prompt: falling leaves

Pairing: Salazar/Rowena

word count: 230

Rowena sighed as she looked out of her tower window. She used to love the autumn. The colourful, falling leaves, the crispness in the air, the chill in the morning, the excuse to sit by a warm fire in the evenings. Yet, as she still enjoyed those things, autumn now reminded her of loss also. The loss of love even as the falling leaves reminded her of falling in love, falling into someone else's arms, falling into their bed.

Since he'd left the castle, driven away by Godric's brash opinions and prejudices without thought to nuance, Rowena had looked for his raven. Some note, some contact, to say that he was safe.

Many thought that because she was intelligent she wasn't susceptible to flights of fancy or heartache. It simply wasn't true; she was still a woman after all. As their daughter aged, the longing and pain of loss settled down deep into her bones. He would not return-not to her, not to their daughter, not to this castle they'd built.

She wished her diadem would give her insight into his departure. She feared it was broken, for all it had shown since Salazar left was Godric's face.

She pulled on her cloak and headed down the steps of her tower. No matter the mood the falling leaves of autumn stirred in her, she still had students to instruct.


	18. 018 Draco

**Death Eater Express** , Day 6, Prompt:

Draco Malfoy / masks / "Well, that's decidedly creepy." / "Skulls, dark manors, candlelight and wicked delights are my life."

word count: 897

Draco slunk into his room carrying his loot under his arm. Once inside, he turned and locked the door. He wanted to lock it with magic but his mother had confiscated his wand for a trick he'd played on Pansy at the beginning of the summer and he wouldn't get it back until it was time to board the Hogwarts Express.

He turned and smirked to himself in congratulations for sneaking out the bundle from his father's study. His father's Death Eater robes. He unbound the bundle and picked it up, flapping it once to unfold the black fabric. Something heavy fell out of the fabric and thunked onto the carpet. "Hmph," he grunted wondering what that was. He dropped the robes onto his bed and bent, picking up the heavy thing.

It was a silver mask, with intricate carvings all around it. There was a mouth hole that reminded him of a dog's muzzle, allowing air and sound to come through but crisscrossed with little bars. He held it up to his face and looked at himself in the non-enchanted mirror. It looked ridiculous with his normal robes and he dropped it on the bed to be played with later. He was shocked at the poor quality of the fabric of the black robes—shouldn't they be resplendent and made of the highest quality? He pulled off his robes down to his pants, grumbling to himself about still wearing pants like a child but still not feeling comfortable in his own awkwardly growing body to not wear them. What if he got a boner during class and wasn't wearing pants? Without pants, his robes would just poke up and everybody would see. He was rather impressed with his own cock but he didn't want just anyone seeing it.

After a second's thought, Draco tugged his pants down as well. If he was going to pretend, if only for a second, to be a Death Eater, he might as well feel like a man too. He pulled the scratchy wool of his father's Death Eater robes down over his head and arranged them over his shoulders. They were loose, he still had a bit more to grow in the shoulders and chest to be a match for his father. He frowned and checked his hair in the mirror. A smug smile slipped onto his face and he nodded to himself. He looked good despite the ill fit and quality. His eyes went wide as he remembered the mask and he grabbed it and put it on. He pulled the hood of the robes up and stared at the image he made in the mirror.

Despite knowing it was him behind the image he felt a shiver run up his spine. He pulled the mask off and looked at it in his hands. "Well, that's decidedly creepy." He dropped it back on the bed and looked back at his reflection. He took a deep breath and puffed up his chest. He tilted his head up just enough and tried to copy that look of disdain that his father did so well. Draco's sneer was getting better but it wasn't quite like his father's just yet.

"Skulls, dark manors," he said is a deeper pitch than normal, attempting his father's nonchalance, "candlelight and wicked delights are my life." He gave himself a smug grin in the mirror. Yeah, he could pass for his father. He could be a Death Eater. Maybe without that creepy mask. He thought it might be the mouth that made the mask extra weird.

"Draco, where are you?" his father's voice called down the hall.

Draco's eyes widened and he hurriedly pulled and tugged at the robes to get them off. His eyes dashed back in forth in his room, trying to find a place to hide the robes he'd borrowed. Borrowed. He didn't steal them. He just... borrowed them. When he didn't find a suitable place he panicked and called for Tippy. "Tippy!" he hissed.

The CRACK from the house-elf was too loud to his ears. "Yes Master Draco?" he said.

"Shh, shh," Draco hushed her, "Take these," he said, grabbing the mask and tucking into the robes and handing the entire pile into the elf's hands, "take them back to my father's study. The left bottom drawer on his desk."

"But Master Draco, Tippy isn't allowed—"

"If you don't do it I'll give you clothes!"

"Yes, Master!" Tippy said, instantly terrified and cowed.

The CRACK she made out as she Disapparated out of his room mixed with the sound of his door open. He stood up and faced his father, feeling heat start to blossom across his chest and face.

"Draco, I—" Lucius stopped halfway through the doorway with his hand still on the door and blinked at his naked son. "What are y—you know what? I'll let you to it. Meet me in my study when you're—" he waved his hand as he gestured towards Draco's crotch, "done." He pulled the door shut and Draco glanced down, feeling the mortification heat his skin down to his toes. In his adrenaline-fueled rush to get rid of the robes, he'd got hard.

He turned and looked at himself in the reflection, beet red in the glass. He sighed and shook his head. "You are never going to live that down."


	19. 019 Bad Things

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 7, Prompt: the bad thing no one talks about

Pairing: Wormtail/Bertha

word count: 269

"Wormtail," the reedy whisper called him. When Peter looked at his master's ghost-like visage he swallowed. Even as a wraith the Dark Lord terrified him.

"Y-y-yes, my Lord?"

"I need a body."

"Yes, of c-c-course," he said, waiting with his head bowed, hoping he wasn't angering his Lord by not going to procure a body from the nearby village. He heard Bertha Jorkins coming round from the last bout of torture. Her mind was going to be gone soon and he wondered if the Dark Lord was just going to want to kill when he collected the last of her memories.

"Not just any body. I need something small that I can possess entirely. Something without will or eagerness."

"A c-child, my Lord?" Peter looked up at the Dark Lord's translucent features to try and understand what he was asking.

"A baby. Newly born."

"Where am I suppose to find—"

"We have the woman. You just need to impregnate her. I'm assuming twelve years as a rat hasn't caused problems, has it?" Peter hadn't thought so but he hadn't actually had the urge to try it out. It functioned for him in the ways he needed at least. He shook his head and stared with wide eyes at the wraith. "Then get to it. I don't want to be a wraith any longer than I have to."

"Don't you want t-t-to, you know, b-b-break her mind first?" Peter asked, somewhat awed at his master's request.

"If I break her mind she won't put up much of a fight, Wormtail. You don't want to fuck a corpse, trust me."


	20. 020 Candles

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 7, Prompt: candles

word count: 310

The candle flames flickered as he breathed over them. "Are you sure this is going to work?" he whispered and flicked out the match he'd let burn down to the quick after he'd lit the candles.

"Of course, I'm sure, James, I'm not an idiot," Sirius said. He was holding a large, ancient-looking book on his lap and rereading the instructions one last time. James was sure he'd have them memorised by now.

Sirius set the book aside and raised his wand at James. "Well, come on, get over here. It has to touch your skin."

"I know that," James muttered, crawling across the floor on his hands and knees because he was too lazy to get up and walk the short distance.

"All right, so you know what I want right?"

"Yeah, and you know what I want. You can do mine afterwards." James pulled his pyjama top off and bared his chest to Sirius. "Right here, right?" Sirius confirmed, pressing his fingertip into James's pec. James nodded and Sirius brought his wand tip to the same spot. He started the incantation in a low whisper and as he continued he got more confident.

James huffed a breath and tried to stop the shudder that wanted to run through him. He clenched his teeth and grunted. "I don't think it tells you how bad it hurts," he groused.

Sirius didn't stop the incantation to reply. He poked his wand hard into James's chest on the last word and James could have sworn he saw stars sparkle behind his closed eyelids. "Merlin, that hurt," he said, blowing out a heavy breath. "How's it look?" he asked, almost scared to see.

Sirius held up the mirror, grinning proudly at him, and summoned a candle closer so he could see better. There on James's chest was a tattoo of Padfoot and Prongs.


	21. 021 Narcissa & Lucius

**Death Eater Express** , Day 7, Prompt:

Narcissa Malfoy / Lucius Malfoy / a dark ritual / "Such carnal delights."

Pairing: Lucius/Narcissa

word count: 561

Narcissa walked into the bedroom she shared with her new husband. Candles littered every surface and illuminated the perimeter of the room. The bed was pulled from the wall and moved to the centre of the room.

Lucius was reclining on an armchair near the unlit fireplace. His dressing gown was laying over his lap but she could see the curve of his thigh and calves uncovered. He was staring at her with hungry eyes.

"What's all this?" she asked, gesturing around the room.

"I just wanted... something a little different," he answered, giving her a one-shouldered-shrug.

Her eyes spied something on the ground but she didn't tilt her head to investigate it. He was up to something and he wasn't being very inconspicuous.

"Come here, my love," he said, standing and dropping his robe, proud of his body. He was very fit and Narcissa enjoyed looking at the way his muscles moved under his skin as he approached her. "Do you want to try something a little different?"

She smiled, thinking she'd play along, whatever it was that he was planning might prove to be beneficial to her. "I could be convinced," she told him.

His eyes widened briefly at the challenge and he closed the distance between them, kissing her with passion and heat. She felt herself melting in his arms, enjoying his seduction. His hands found all sorts of places on her body to caress, gliding his fingers up and down her arms, her chest, her back. He undressed her efficiently and guided her toward the bed.

She forced her eyes open as she stepped back, feeling a bump of a protection spell under her feet, protecting the circle of salt she'd seen earlier. What ritual was he planning? There were plenty of heightening pleasure spells in her family's grimoires and she didn't doubt that a sensualist like Lucius would have found similar ones in his.

She let him control her body, moving her into whatever place he deemed was necessary and she didn't even worry when he cast a spell to bound her wrists and ankles to the bed. She did pretend though. She tugged on her wrists to test the tightness. "Why are you tying me down?"

"I plan to take you to heights unknown, Narcissa, such carnal delights that you couldn't even begin to imagine."

She looked up at him with a smirk. "What sort of pleasure ritual are you planning?"

His seductive smile slipped and he stepped off the bed. On the canopy above her, what he'd been blocking when he was laying over her, was runes that would ensure prosperity. Except there was something wrong, there were two extra runes and on her next inhale she caught the metallic scent of blood.

Chills broke over her body and she started to truly struggle. "What dark ritual is this, Lucius?" She asked, fear causing her voice to rise in pitch. She pulled hard at her wrists feeling the ropes tighten over the delicate skin. "Lucius? Stop, this isn't right. I don't, this isn't fun, this isn't right," she begged. Something felt horribly wrong.

Then there was movement at the side of the bed and Lucius's skin started to bubble and shift. His hair receded and turned dark and someone else was standing in her bedroom. A voice she didn't recognise said, "I'm not Lucius."


	22. 022 Long Lost OTP

**AN:** Sorry not sorry: it's Twilight.

* * *

 **NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 8, Prompt: a long lost OTP

Pairing: Jasper/Bella

word count: 384

"Bella," Jasper said, gasping as she pressed herself again him, pinning him to the tree with her body. "I don't know if we—" she cut him off mid-sentence with her mouth, dominating his.

It wasn't the right move for the newborn vampire and he wrapped his arms around hers, pinning her arms to her body, pulling his head back and using his height to look down at her.

"Bella," he asked, topaz eyes boring into her brilliant red ones, "Do you know who I am?"

She wiggled in his grasp, trying to twist and break free. "Yes, of course, Jasper."

He studied her, enjoying the way her body felt against his as she wiggled. "So it's not just newborn instinct directing you to the closest cock?"

Her eyes dilated and she started panting, "Oh," she said, her chest heaving as the thought overwhelmed her. She stilled in his grasp for a moment and he could feel the mischief coming off of her. He relaxed his grip a little, knowing that's what she wanted, and the instant he did she jumped and climbed him, pulling him away from the tree enough to wrap her legs around his waist, bringing her panty-clad cunt against his jeans. She ground against him to ease her ache.

"Bella," Jasper said trying to regain her attention, "I can make the feeling go away. Numb it until Edward's here to—"

She bared her teeth at her supposed mate's name. "No, not..." she shook her head.

It was like he'd felt when she was human. No matter how much Edward and Bella claimed to be mates and love one another, it wasn't the supernatural pull of mates that he'd felt between Carlisle and Esme or Emmett and Rosalie. Just like Alice, they'd convinced themselves they were in love when they really weren't. Now, the newborn instinct running rampant through her hardened flesh was telling her that she needed sex to find a compatible mate and that Jasper was a likely contender for it.

Jasper smiled as he brought his mouth down on hers, glad that when he would argue his case later to Carlisle and the rest of the coven, he'd have her revulsion to Edward to back up why it would be his claiming mark on her neck and not Edward's.


	23. 023 Masks

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 8, Prompt: masks

word count: 788

Rabastan wondered how horrible a social disgrace it would be to wear his Death Eater mask and robes to the Masquerade Gala being hosted at St Mungo's. He'd received the invitation on one of his good days and RSVP'd that he would attend but now as the day crept closer, he was feeling more and more reluctant to rub shoulders with... well, everyone.

He was sure the busybodies in charge of the event were either members of the Order of the Phoenix or associates and he'd seen enough of them at his parole hearing back in May. Ten more years in Azkaban, he'd served. Ten.

Spending over half his life and most of his prime years in prison had not been his goal in life when he'd left Hogwarts. What he'd envisioned had been prestige even as a second son and maybe a wife. Someone who he could love and would love him in return. It hadn't sounded so unattainable when he was a much younger man.

He sighed. If he still wanted anything remotely close to that he would need to mingle with people, and perhaps this Masquerade was just the thing. He felt a sharp pain in his temple as less than pure thoughts passed through his mind about drugging and abducting a woman from the party. He winced and bared his teeth, hating the pseudo-mind-control spells he'd been placed under as part of his parole. Just because he thought these things didn't mean he would act on them. Everyone has bad thoughts once in a while. He tried to imagine fluffy kittens and puppies to try and ease the pain.

In the end, he decided to create a mask in the shape of a raven's beak and he added an iridescent sheen to a set of formal black robes. He added raven feathers around the back of his collar and chose one of the fluffier knots for his black cravat to imitate the chest ruff.

He allowed the portkey to take him to the entrance of the hall that was being used for the Gala. He allowed himself to be submitted to a set of security spells to prove that he had been invited, wasn't under now-illegal Polyjuice Potion, and wasn't under the Imperius Curse. The last one flagged a shocking orange colour and the boy doing the scans had to ask him to stand to the side for a moment. The boy darted off and came back with an Auror in red robes.

"Sir, if you'll come with me please," the Auror said.

"Would it help if I told you that the spells your ilk put on me at my parole were what was flagging his Imperius check?" Rabastan asked, sounding ridiculously bored.

"Oh. Yes that. That would explain it," he turned to the boy doing the scans. "If that was all that was flagged he should be free to enter."

Rabastan was gestured to enter the room and noticed how crowded it seemed. His gaze swept over the crowd searching out familiar body shapes and heights the same way he would do at meetings with the Dark Lord. He recognised one. Dolohov. Rabastan's brow furrowed as he looked in the direction Dolohov was staring.

Up on a dais chatting with a musician was a woman. Her dress was gold and cream and it sparkled in the thousand of candles that illuminated the ballroom. She wore elbow length gloves but her neck and shoulders were bare, showing inches of creamy, unblemished skin that shimmered like she'd been dusted with gold. She was masked, of course, but it cut away over her mouth so he could see kissable red lips. Her hair was sleek and in an intricate looking golden cage.

Rabastan made his way to Dolohov and greeted him in a quiet voice.

The older man turned his head to get a better gauge of who was addressing him. When recognition dawned he addressed him just as softly. "Lestrange."

"Who's the girl?" Rabastan asked, turning to face the beauty halfway across the room. She glided rather than walked as she moved down the stairs to mingle with the guests. She was average in height, probably shorter barefooted, and shapely. Her body looked luscious and ripe. Well-rounded curves teased him as her gown swayed with every step she took. He imagined what it would be like to press her against the wall and fuck her hard; he wanted to feel the swell of her hips and breasts through the glimmering fabric. He was surprised when the altered Imperius on his mind didn't cause him pain.

"Hermione Granger," Dolohov said as he too turned and gazed back at the woman.

Behind his mask, Rabastan's eyebrows raised.


	24. 024 Rabastan & Hermione

**Death Eater Express** , Day 8, Prompt:

Rabastan Lestrange / Hermione Granger / tattoo fetish / "What do you mean, you're taking me hostage?" / "Happy fucking Halloween!"

Pairing: Rabastan/Hermione, Rabastan/Hermione/Draco/Sirius

word count: 539

Rabastan tightened his arms around his wife as she settled herself into his lap. She ground her hips down on him and leaned up to kiss and lick at his chin and neck. He loved the feel of her body under his fingertips. He even liked how her small baby bump pressed into his own stomach. Soon they wouldn't be able to make love this way, baby would be in the way.

He hummed and turned his head to kiss her, dominating her. Her hands reached up and pinched his nipples. A grunt slipped from him and he tipped his head back, loving the way her touch sent sparks of pleasure through him. She shifted, rising up on her knees and sank down over his cock. When she rose back up her mouth returned to his neck right over his Azkaban tattoo. That stupid little group of runes and numbers that they marked him with when he'd first been remanded there. He'd hated it but with the way Hermione was tonguing it as she fucked him, he was beginning to change his mind.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a tattoo fetish," he said, resting his hands on her hips and guiding her as she took her pleasure from him.

Rabastan felt the bed dip and cracked his lids to look at the interloper. Draco. Behind him, Sirius was standing at the doorway watching. Rabastan wondered what they were up to.

Hermione's breath had picked up and she started making that breathy grunt she did right before she orgasmed and Rabastan hoped Draco wouldn't be so uncouth as to interrupt her. She cried out as she peaked, her body going rigid and still above him. He wanted to finish inside her but knew to give her a moment. Draco took that moment to seize her hands and pull them behind her back.

"You're mine," he whispered above her ear into her hair. His pull on her hands caused her to lean back and Rabastan pulled down on her hips so he wouldn't slip from her quite yet.

"What?" she asked, not letting the other man's presence bother her enjoyment of Rabastan's cock.

Draco tugged on her shoulders and succeeded in pulling her off of Rabastan's lap and Hermione finally seemed to understand. "What, do you mean you're taking me hostage?" she asked, opening her eyes and smirking at her him.

Draco grinned, "Something like that." He manoeuvred her farther down the bed and Rabastan helped him rearrange her legs so she was laying flat, legs spread wide. Rabastan leaned down and nipped at her toes, only slightly peeved at Draco for interrupting. Draco slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her deeply and reached up to tug at her nipples.

With her so distracted, she didn't notice at first when Sirius joined them on the bed. She did notice when he leaned down and licked at her belly. She jerked in their hold and turned her head away from Draco to look down at Sirius.

"What, wait... is this my long awaited foursome?" she asked, eyes sparkling with excitement as she looked at each of them.

"Happy fucking Halloween, love," Sirius murmured against her belly.


	25. 025 An Argument

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 9, Prompt: an argument

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

word count: 369

"Hermione, come on, you promised!" Ron shouted through the spare bedroom door.

"I did no such thing, Ronald!" She thumped against the door with her hand, needing to punctuate her argument. "I've gone over this. I don't want to have a child right now and it doesn't endear me to you to find you trying to sabotage my means of protecting myself."

"I hate that you make me wear those things. They're unnatural!"

She growled in her irritation. "Ginny, your mom, hell even your dad told me that the typical contraception spells don't seem to work on Weasleys. I'm not going to risk my career at this stage with an accidental pregnancy and we're not having sex until I can go buy condoms that I know you haven't tampered with."

"Hermione!" he whined. "Harry and I are going out on a two-week out-of-the-country mission in conjunction with France's Auror Department, I just to spend one last night with you."

"Then you should have thought about that before you sabotaged the condoms, Ron," she said.

He banged his fist on the door. "Why do you have to be so stubborn!"

"Why do you ignore everything I say?"

"You're constantly talking, I can't possibly hear everything."

She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, she was so tired of arguing with him. If it was the first time she'd caught him casting a Porous Spell on the box of condoms then maybe she could forgive him, but it wasn't. They'd done this sort of dance for the last six years.

"Hermione? Did you hear me?"

"No, Ron, I didn't. I was too busy wishing for a divorce."

"Hermione?" The anger had leeched from him and he sounded lost. "You don't mean that." The doorknob jiggled at her elbow. "You don't... we love each other. We're... we're just having problems. Every couple has problems. We've just... just got to work through them. Hermione? Open the door."

"No, Ron. I'm going to bed."

"This isn't our bedroom."

"Tonight, this one's mine."

"Don't be mad at me, Hermione. I love you."

She stared blankly at the plain grey wall of the spare bedroom. She couldn't bring herself to say it back this time.


	26. 026 Ghost Story

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 9, Prompt: ghost story

word count: 228

She hid when it was over. It wasn't a brave thing to do but she'd never claimed to be brave. She was a Slytherin and self-preservation was key. That she was dead didn't really factor into it. She still couldn't believe that she was dead. That overly ripe, ginger hussy took down the greatest witch of their generation. Bellatrix had always hated the Prewetts. She was glad when those annoying twins were taken down. Someone should have taken down the bitch when they took down her brothers.

Bellatrix looked down at her hands, translucent and grey. She saw her dress through her hands and looked at it. She danced and watched the sway of her skirt, at least she was fashionably dressed.

Bella sneered and floated down the corridor toward the Great Hall. Maybe she could find McGonagall and scare her into a heart attack. Or maybe she could snoop in Snape's stuff in the Headmaster's Tower? Surely he left something incriminating, maybe he was shagging a student.

It didn't take her long to get to the Great Hall. She frowned as she looked over the empty seats and listened to the quiet. Where was everyone? Was it summer? Had she hidden for longer than she'd thought? She heard a cackle that she recognised as Peeves and spun mid-air, eyes flashing with maniacal glee. This could be fun.


	27. 027 Bellatrix & Rodolphus

**AN:** A short continuation of my one-shot "Entitled."

* * *

 **Death Eater Express** , Day 9, Prompt:

Bellatrix Lestrange / Rodolphus Lestrange / "I'm happy to share." / "You've never seen a trick like this."

Pairing: Augustus/Bellatrix/Rodolphus

word count: 359

"What would you have me do, Mistress?" Rodolphus asked his bride from his knees.

She smiled down at him and cooed, "Just set an example for our dear Gus."

"Yes, Mistress," he said.

She conjured a stool in front of him and slowly raised her heel-clad foot to rest on top. Rodolphus knew what she liked and bent to lick at her shoe. He could hear Augustus swallow a few feet away.

"What was that, Gus?" She asked, looking at him with a cruel smile. She flicked her wand and Augustus's bonds were reduced to just his arms, pulled back and wrapped tightly, elbows for forearms together. He grunted at the sharp pull on his pectoral muscles. "Crawl," she demanded of him.

He seemed reluctant at first and with a flick of her wand Rodolphus heard the crack of a whip against Augustus's bare arse. He cried out around his gag but shuffled forward on his knees.

"That's a good boy," Bella praised him. "Now come here and lick my shoe. I'm sure Rodolphus wouldn't mind sharing, would you Dolph?"

"I'm happy to share, Mistress."

Augustus leaned forward but couldn't crane his neck enough to lick her shoe without falling onto his face. He had to shuffle closer. He did and as he leaned forward, Bella used her wand to remove the gag from his face. Watching Augustus's humiliation had Dolph panting with excitement.

"Mistress," he murmured to Bella and she reached out and caressed his head with her hand, running her fingers through his hair. He nuzzled her hand.

Augustus leaned back and wiggled, obviously uncomfortable in the binding. Without the gag, he was free to talk again. Dolph watched him dig himself deep into Bella's bad graces. He wondered if Augustus could talk himself into a buggering. "Nice trick, I've seen a dominatrix before. Now let me go. I won't try to hold Dolph to the deal he made."

Bella just giggled and her eyes seemed to flash with lust. "Oh, you're not going anywhere tonight, Gus... maybe you'll have to join us for the duration of our honeymoon because you've never seen a trick like this."


	28. 028 an AU

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 10, Prompt: an AU

word count: 293

Harriet paced in her dormitory, thankful she was alone for the moment. She was contemplating how she could be a Hogwarts Champion and the-girl-who-lived and still not have a date for the Yule Ball. Was she just that disliked? It couldn't be that she intimidated people, like Hermione. Even Hermione had been asked. She'd kept it a secret until Ron messed up and asked her after he'd tried a few other options like she was his last resort.

Neither of them had asked her if she had a date. Apparently, they just assumed she did. Even Professor McGonagall had told her that she and her date would be required to open the floor to dancing by dancing first with the other three Champions. Harriet had wanted to sink through the floor like a ghost. She hadn't had the mind to tell McGonagall that she didn't have a date and now there was less than a week to the event.

She opened her wardrobe and looked at her dress robes. The shop clerk had suggested dark green to go with her eyes and since she'd never had formal clothes before she went with the suggestion. They were lovely and there were sparkly details on the top but Harriet got sick to her stomach just looking at them. What if someone said something about her liking Slytherins? It was too dark to be Slytherin House colours but it was still green and...

She sighed. No one was going to see them; she didn't have a date. She would rather miss the entire thing than show up alone and be berated by McGonagall. Being scolded for not being popular enough for a date would be the ultimate humiliation.

She wished Ron would have just asked her.


	29. 029 Horror Movie

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 10, Prompt: horror movie

word count: 376

"There's not going to be spiders, is there?" Ron asked Hermione for the fourth time.

She rolled her eyes and looked at Harry in exasperation before answering him. "No, Ronald, there won't be any spiders. It's just a live rendition of a Muggle fairytale. It's romance."

"But it's in a different language, isn't it?" Ginny asked.

"I asked the ticket seller about that and she assured me that language wouldn't be an issue and if you have any questions, you could just ask me or Harry."

Harry looked away from the old buildings surrounding them to her. "Why me?"

"Because I'm sure you know the story too."

Remus, one of the two designated 'adults' with them on this vacation to Amsterdam, asked, "Which story is it?"

Hermione ducked her head a little in embarrassment. "Beauty and the Beast," she answered.

He nodded and glanced at Sirius who had started sniggering. "Anything to say?"

Sirius shook his head but it still took him a moment to hush his chortles. "No, no," he shook his head and held his hand out palm facing them, "I'm good. Let's go watch this live show of Beauty and the Beast, then." He gestured towards the entrance and ushered them all in.

When they finally slipped back out onto the street an hour later, Hermione thought her skin would forever be tomato red. How could she have...? What had she...? How...?

Harry was walking beside her with wide, dazed eyes. "I didn't know something that big could go there."

Behind them, Ginny and Sirius were snickering and Remus was guiding a green-looking Ron, who couldn't stomach the horror they'd seen. Sirius walked up between Hermione and Harry and wrapped his arms around their shoulders.

"Well, I don't know about romance but..."

"No! No," Hermione said too quickly, "That's... no."

"I have a feeling you missed something vital in the description of the show, Kitten," Sirius told her, leaning in to kiss her on the temple. "I didn't know you'd be so interested in that sort of thing. I'm sure if you're interested in performing our own rendition of your fairytale, Padfoot wouldn't mind co-starring with you," he whispered in her ear. She shuddered violently and Sirius tipped his head back to laugh.


	30. 030 Fenrir & Hermione

**Death Eater Express** , Day 10, Prompt:

Fenrir Greyback / Hermione Granger / "Are you supposed to be Little Red Riding Hood?" / "I'm the Big Bad Wolf."

Pairing: Fenrir/Hermione

word count: 486

Hermione stared in horror at the place where Ron and Harry had Disapparated with Dobby. She was dizzy and every part of her body ached from the torture she'd undergone and now... Now Voldemort was on his way and her friends had left without her.

She did not want to blame them. She knew they had tried to save her. Dobby had dropped a chandelier on Bellatrix and Harry might have punched Draco but Hermione was still there, slumped to the floor unable to move from the pain and fear of what was going to happen next. Voldemort would destroy her mind with Legilimency and then they would kill her. Or use her as bait to try and lure Harry and Ron into a trap.

Hermione panted and fought against the growing blackness that was threatening to take over her vision. There was a near-silent pop of Apparition. "This had better be important, Lucius," a cold, high-pitched voice seemed to growl out.

"My Lord," Lucius said, sounding like he was grovelling. Hermione couldn't tell because she couldn't see him. Her vision was dark around the edges and she could only focus on the slightest bit of colour and light in the centre of her gaze. She could see the floor and her blood, scarlet and smeared where she'd thrashed in her screams. Pale, bare feet with black fabric draped over them stepped into her line of sight. Lucius Malfoy must have continued talking but all Hermione could hear was a buzzing.

The bare feet moved away and she watched, transfixed as the droplets of her blood rose off the floor and merged, coalescing to form something wide before it floated out of her sight. It wasn't until she felt a cloak lay over her did she realise he'd turned her own blood into a cloak.

The buzzing had faded a little, enough for her to hear another voice, deep and rumbling. "Yes, my Lord, I'll be able to tame her."

Her vision dimmed further and Hermione lost consciousness.

When she awoke she was being carried. The person's chest was covered in hair and he smelled like blood and rot. Her involuntary gagging alerted her captor that she was awake.

"I like your red cloak, little girl," the voice rumbled, "are you supposed to be Little Red Riding Hood?" he chuckled and the sound of it sent shivers down her spine. He entered a room and closed a door behind him. He set her on a bed. She tried to sit up or move but everything hurt too much.

"What..." she tried to ask but her throat was raw and it only came out as a hoarse whisper.

Fenrir Greyback chuckled again and moved so his face was close to hers. He licked at the blood on her throat and neck where Bellatrix had cut her. "I'm the Big Bad Wolf, little girl, and you're mine now."


	31. 031 Smut

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 11, Prompt: smut

Pairing: Draco/Pansy

word count: 1,189

Pansy was asleep in Draco's bed when he returned from the Revel the Dark Lord had hosted. He'd just watch several of the older members of the Death Eaters have their way with plenty of girls. Most were disguised with a sack over their heads and at first Draco had found it disturbing but after the third one, he could see the appeal. There was no need for eye contact or pleasure, they were just there as entertainment. But, Pansy, in his bed? That was something much different.

His cock was stiff and aching from tenting his robes during most of the night. Since he wasn't one of the senior members he had not been allowed a turn, perhaps having Pansy here for him alone was consolation.

He stripped completely and slid under the covers. He paused before reaching out to touch her. He could do this. He could prove he was a man. His fingers touched her shoulder first and then slid down her arm. Her skin was so smooth and soft he couldn't help but drag his fingers up and down her arm for a few moments.

She started to wake and the breathy, "Draco," that escaped her lips had him ready to lay over her already but he knew he needed to ready her first. He moved closer to her and tipped her chin up, kissing her mouth Her breath was foul but he forced himself to continue. Kissing was important to girls. She kissed him back and he deemed the entire exercise a success when neither of them bumped noses or let their tongues flop around in each other's mouths like a dying fish. He'd heard some of the older boys in Slytherin say that was one of the things they hated about kissing. Tasting like a fish. Well, she didn't.

She moaned and he really liked the sound. He decided he wanted to kiss her in other places and let his mouth slip from hers to kiss her jaw and neck. Licking and sucking at the skin on her neck and shoulder seemed to make her wiggle and moan and somehow they moved together until he was laying over her and kissing and sucking everything he could reach. His hips rutted of their own accord, seeking the space between her thighs.

His hands wandered to her breasts and he expected a bra or something to be in the way but all he got was soft, squishy flesh. His eyes rolled back in his head at the feel of her tits. He loved how they jiggled and moved to his touch and wondered how they would feel under his tongue. He scooted down, intent to find out.

The squishy, wiggly feeling was even cooler under his tongue and then he found her nipples. They started out soft like the rest of it but then pebbled in his mouth and it was the wickedest thing. He loved the sounds she was making, it wasn't anything like the girls at the revel, and spent a long time kissing and sucking and licking Pansy's tits.

It wasn't until she whimpered and tried to pull away from him that he stopped. "You're making me sore, Draco," she whined, breathy.

"Sorry," he muttered. Surely with all that moaning, she would be wet by now, right? He reached down and wished he'd left the torches burning instead of just the candle on the bedside table. He wanted to see what he was doing. Instead, he just decided to go on touch alone. He felt her curly pubic hair and followed the contour of the bone down. There was a lot of wetness. At first, he wondered if she'd weed on him but the texture didn't feel like water; it felt slick. He really liked it.

He glided his fingers all around the wetness. The skin here was puffy and soft and Draco had no idea where he needed to put his cock just that he wanted to so badly. He gently pushed in different places until he found a spot that seemed to give more than most and pushed his fingers into it.

"Ow," she squealed.

"Sorry, it's dark," he apologised; he really didn't mean to hurt her. "Is that it, though?" he asked, hating that he was giving away his naivety with the question.

"Yeah, that's it," she murmured. She still sounded uncomfortable but Draco didn't know how to fix it. She had liked when he kissed her tits but then she'd told him to stop. He kept his hand at her hole and leaned back on his knees. With his other hand he stroked his cock and hoped he could give her a good time without embarrassing himself. He led his cock to her hole and pushed gently. He didn't slide in smoothly like he'd seen all the men at the revel do. He tilted his hips and pressed forward again but didn't get any further. He brought his hand back down to her hole but suddenly her hand was on his cock and she was wiggling her hips like she was scooting up the bed. There was a bit more give and her voice was breathy when she said, "Try that."

He pushed forward again, putting more of his weight into his hips and succeeded in getting inside of her. She grunted and suddenly everything surrounding his cock was so tight he would swear she was going to suffocate him.

He froze and closed his eyes, panting, trying to relax and not immediately come. Finally, when he was sure his bollocks weren't going to explode instantly, he opened his eyes and started moving. It took him a few tries to get the angle and distance right and he almost slipped completely out of her but her hand came up and guided him back in.

"Merlin, this is awesome," he muttered as he moved. Every bump and ridge inside of her squeezed at him and her slickness was so smooth he wanted to tap it and bottle it to keep for later. She was starting to whimper when he moved and her hips were rocking with his and with each of her movements it seemed she tightened up even more until he couldn't take it. He shoved in hard and groaned loudly when his orgasm exploded out of his cock.

He collapsed over her and dragged in breath after breath. He could smell the jasmine of her shampoo in her hair. She pushed at his chest and he rolled off of her realising that the cool air of his room felt wonderful against his sweat-slicked skin. He closed his eyes as he caught his breath and felt her shift on the bed.

"Draco?" she asked, sounding quiet and small, unlike her usual self. He assumed it had to do with the fact that she was tired and he'd pleasured her. It must have been pleasurable for her, right? It had been so amazing for him and she'd not yelled or screamed like the girls at the revel. He didn't bother answering her and let sleep drag him under instead.


	32. 032 Vandalism

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 11, Prompt: vandalism

word count: 273

Valerian Snape ran down the path from the Shrieking Shack towards Hogsmeade proper chasing Teddy Lupin and Alphard Black. He didn't have their endurance, not being a Quidditch player, and soon found himself with his hands braced on his knees panting for breath.

He couldn't stand those two no matter how many times his mother dragged him to the Weasley family reunions. When the stitch in his side finally eased he turned back to see the damage they'd caused. He didn't stop at the wire fence and continued walking until he was close to the Shack.

He was sure his mother would find it weird that he often came to the Shack to think and be close to his father but he didn't expect he would tell her, either. He brushed his black curly hair behind his ear and surveyed the spray-painted words across the little wooden building.

"Snape Sucks!"

They could have been a little more creative than that, Valerian thought. He drew his wand and debated which spells to use to clean off the orange paint.

He wished they would have had more respect for the dead but he doubted they cared. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had died on Hogwarts grounds in the final battle just like Severus Snape had died in the shack. They'd all been on the 'good' side of the war but there were still rumours and stories that painted Valerian's father with a tarnished brush.

Sometimes he thought it was just the name of Snape that was cursed. Maybe one day he would show them... He'd show them all that he was the better wizard.


	33. 033 Thorfinn, Antonin

**Death Eater Express** , Day 11, Prompt:

Thorfinn Rowle / Antonin Dolohov / "What did you do with the body?" / "I fucking hate Halloween!"

word count: 299

Hallowe'en, sometime in the early 70s

Antonin hated clean up duty. He was a Knight of Walpurgis, not one of the Dark Lord's newly recruited Death Eaters. Who eats death, anyway? He suppressed a shudder. No, he knew exactly what sorts of rituals required eating from a human corpse. The same sort that could alternately be achieved by fucking one. Antonin had no interest in doing either, nor was he interested in the immortal life such an act granted. He blinked and cleared his thoughts, now was not the time to ponder such thing.

Another man came trampling into the kitchen of the Muggle house through the back door. He was trying to wipe what looked like cobwebs off his face and out of his hair. Antonin turned his head to look at the hulking blond boy.

"I fucking hate Hallowe'en," the boy said.

"Why is your mask off, Rowle?"

Thorfinn Rowle looked up and cocked his head like he hadn't heard the question.

"Why is your mask off?" Antonin repeated.

"I went looking through their shed for some accelerant and, even with a lit wand, I couldn't see anything with that blasted mask on."

Randolph Lestrange, the other Knight of Walpurgis on this mission, entered the kitchen from the front of the house at the same time the other recruit, Robert Travers, came down the stairs.

"Where did you put the body?" Antonin asked Travers.

"What body?"

Randolph released an exasperated breath, "'What body?'" he mocked, "The body of the Muggle you were supposed to kill. The reason we're here. We're supposed to make it look like an accident."

"Oh. Oops," Travers answered.

"'Oops'?" Antonin asked

"After I killed him, I Vanished it."

"Morgana's bloody..." Randolph forced himself to stop the swear. He turned to look at Antonin. "Are they all this bloody incompetent?"


	34. 034 Major Character Death

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 12, Prompt: major character death

(prequel scene to The First Circle)

word count: 523

They all seemed to stumble when Dobby's Apparition landed them on the beach. Ron held onto Hermione and eased down to his knees, cradling her against him. He touched her face and wiped at the blood on her jaw. "Come on, Hermione, you can wake up. You're safe; we're safe." He shook her gently when she didn't respond. "Hermione, wake up," he said more urgently.

"Ron..." Harry's voice sounded scratchy and hoarse to his own ears but he couldn't force it any louder. Not yet. "Ron," he said again.

"Hermione, wake up! Wake up, Hermione," Ron said faster and louder, touching her face and kissing at her cheek.

"Ron!"

He finally looked up at Harry who was standing beside them. "What? Where're our wands? I need to cast a Reviving Spell."

"Ron, she's not..." Harry shook his head, his gaze dropping down to Hermione's chest. "She's not going to wake up, Ron." He could feel tears building at the back of his eyes, his nose doing that odd prickling sensation that meant he was going to start crying. His throat felt thick and he tried to swallow to clear it.

Ron's gaze seemed to follow Harry's and he looked down at Hermione's body in his lap. Protruding from Hermione's chest was Bellatrix's knife. Hermione's shirt was torn and soaked through with blood, stark vermilion against their pale skin.

The whimpered and small, "No..." that escaped Ron as he realised what had happened, what Harry meant, made the hair on Harry's arms stand up and the tears start to slip down his face.

Ron's face scrunched and his skin flushed as he said the simple word a bit louder. He looked up at Harry and spat the words, "I'll kill her. I'm going to kill that bitch." He stood and Hermione's body flopped onto the sand. "Give me my wand, Harry, I'm going to go back and kill her," he held out his hand as if Harry was just going to comply with that.

A woman's voice called out to them from farther up the beach, "Ron? Harry?"

"Harry, give me my wand!" Ron demanded, stepping over Hermione to advance on him.

Harry shook his head, kept shaking his head. "No," he told him as he backed up. "No, you're not going anywhere." His voice was quiet and the sound was muted because of the tears and mucus in his throat. "You're not leaving me too."

"Mon dieu!" Fleur shouted as she approached, rushing forward to kneel at Hermione's body. Her hands fluttered over Hermione's chest, her face, her neck, but when she came to the same conclusion Harry had she leaned back and looked at them. Ron angry and Harry in tears. "You will help me carry her," she demanded of Ron. She stood and tugged on his sleeve, pulling him away from Harry.

Ron's anger seemed to flee from him and his face pinched as he tried to stop his own tears. He looked back down at Hermione's body and glanced to Fleur. He took a deep breath like he wanted to say something but just nodded his head in acquiescence instead.


	35. 035 Potions

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 12, Prompt: potions

Pairing: Tom Riddle Sr/Merope

word count: 211

It took Merope a few weeks with the absence of her brother and father to realise what opportunity she had. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't a squib, either. She found the tattered, old book on the floor in the corner near her father's cot where he'd never let her go before.

Inside were recipes. Recipes that would give her what she wanted. She wanted the love of that pretty Muggle boy and she would get it.

It took her over two months to gather all the ingredients but when she had she meticulously made the potion in the book that would make the Muggle love her. When it was complete she sniffed it herself, trembling with fear at what it might smell like. It smelled of cedar and camphor and horse and she was pleased.

She wrote a note for her father's return. She dressed with care and waited, knowing the boy would ride by eventually. He did. His dark hair shined in the sunlight, his horse snorted and chuffed. She hailed him and commented that he looked thirsty, offering him a drink. When he had taken it, she smiled. He carried her from there on horseback and she could smell the cedar and camphor on his clothes.

She never returned.


	36. 036 Amycus

**Death Eater Express** , Day 12, Prompt:

Amycus / a broken picture frame / a dead Muggle / "Remember when Halloween was about pumpkins, not murder?"

word count: 513

Hallowe'en, sometime in the early 70s

Conor Mulciber flopped onto the blood-stained sofa and propped his soiled boots onto the low table, knocking over a picture frame and crushing the glass under his heel. "What are you doing?" Amycus asked him.

Conor slipped his mask upon to his head underneath his hood. "What does it look like, Carrow? I'm having a sit-down. Where's the Bitch? Think she'd fix me a cuppa?"

"You shut up about my sister," Amycus growled at him.

Frederick Nott walked down the stairs carrying a partially dressed witch's body. After he'd tossed it on the floor next to the mangled bodies of her dead Muggle husband and children, he brought his hand to his cock to adjust himself.

"Ah, gross, Fred, did you really fuck her after she let filth stick its cock in her?"

He shrugged. "It washes off. And Carrow," Nott said, directing his attention to the recruit, "don't take the sister comments personally. He's been saying the same thing about mine since Hogwarts."

"That's 'cause your sister _is_ a bitch, Fred."

"Whatever, she just wouldn't let you stick your prick in her arse." Nott looked around at the macabre scene before nodding to himself, approvingly. "Where is your sister, Carrow?"

"I'm right here," Alecto said, joining them from the kitchen with another dead child. "Merlin's bloody ball sack, what did you guys do?" She dropped her haul on the pile and raised her upper lip in disgust at the mess.

"Mulicber likes to think of himself as a butcher," Fred said, grinning at her. The woman on the floor moaned and stirred and they watched as she started to come around. When she was aware enough to notice her fingers were pressing into the blood-soaked carpet and she was looking into the flayed chest of her husband she started screaming in terror.

"Ahh, nothing quite like the sound of half-blood blood-traitor screaming in fear in the early hours of the morning," Conor said as he tipped his head in appreciation. The women tried to stand and slipped in the blood, painting her bare skin scarlet. "Na ah ah," he said in a sing-song, "You stay there with the rest of your filth." He cast a silent curse that dropped her face first in the muck. She whimpered in fear.

"Just kill her and get it over with," Amycus said, impatience written on his face.

"You've got to learn the art of torture, boy," Conor said, "It's the time spent waiting between pain and death when your subject's mind can contemplate the true horrors of their situation that makes it sweeter." He sighed. " _Avada Kedavra_ ," he said casting the spell at the prone witch with a bored nonchalance, "but you're right. We do need to get going. Hey, Bitch, when we get back to headquarters, do you think you'd be up for a fuck?"

Alecto looked at him, taking in the viscera clinging to his robes and the fabric saturated with Muggle blood with revulsion plain on her face before she turned to her brother, "Remember when Hallowe'en was about pumpkins, not murder?"


	37. 038 Spiders

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 13, Prompt: spiders

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

word count: 423

Ron tipped his head back and finished off the amber liquor in his tumbler. The ice in the glass clinked as he set it back down. His face scrunched as the alcohol burned on the way down his throat but he didn't cough.

He rocked his jaw back and forth, one of those angry ticks that Hermione had always chided him about. "It'll give you jaw problems, Ronald." He could hear the nag in her tone in his head. He didn't care. He sat slumped on his bar stool not drunk enough to drown out her voice yet. He gestured toward the bartender to pour him another round and before the Muggle left he found his voice enough to say, "Leave the bottle."

The bartender raised his eyebrows but nodded and the bottle of Muggle whisky was left.

Ron scowled at the bottle like it was the cause of offence, knowing it wasn't. Her silence. As much as her nagging about every, little thing drove him 'round the bend it was her silence that had ruined him. Somewhere in the seven years since the end of the war, in the six they were married, Hermione had stopped loving him. He didn't know when. He wished he did so he could go back to that moment, to the moments before that moment, and stop it from happening. Change it.

He downed the whisky in his glass in as few gulps as possible and poured himself another glass. He was sloppy about it, spilling a bit over the edge and filling far higher than the bartender had done. He watched the golden drops as they slid down the side of the glass, watched in fascination as they beaded on his fingers before spreading out.

Just past his fingers on the wood of the bar, almost hidden in the little black streaks of the warm wood grain was a tiny spider. Eight little, spindly legs twitching as it walked, skittered across the bar top.

He frowned at it, wondering where his fear and revulsion was when it waded through some of the spilt whisky. He smacked his hand down on top of it, squashing it flat, smearing it into pieces. If only he could do that with the other spiders in his life.

A neighbouring patron glanced up at the sound and raised his eyes at Ron. "Wha's that?"

"Spider," Ron answered, slurring the middle letters into one sound. He raised his fingers to show the insect's guts mixed with spilt whisky. "Didn't want to share."


	38. 039 Regulus

**Death Eater Express** , Day 13, Prompt:

Regulus Black / a barking dog / an umbrella / "Listen, if you don't hear from me in a while, have a killer Halloween."

word count: 403

(Muggle, police noir? AU)

Sirius unlocked the door to the flat he shared with his brother and let it swing shut behind him. The tattered and dirty umbrella near the door clattered to the floor at the slight breeze.

"We've really got to get a stand for that," Sirius muttered to himself. It had been a long day at the station and he was exhausted. He wondered if Regulus would be up for some takeaway. Sirius dropped his keys in the dish on the rickety table by the door and started unbuckling his gun holster. When it was off and he had hung it in the cupboard where he always kept it he looked around.

The fridge hummed loudly in the dark space. No lights, no telly. Where he the hell was Regulus? Sirius walked down the hall and tapped on his brother's door, it creaked on its hinges, unlatched. If he was home and in his room, Regulus's door would be shut. Sirius pushed it further open and flipped the light switch. Empty, of course. He turned the light back off and headed into the sitting room, his eyes scanning the room for anything unusual.

The answerphone light was blinking red in the dim light. Dusk had settled on Sirius's way home and now the flat seemed swallowed in darkness. He pressed the button to listen to the message.

"Sirius, it's Reg—obviously—anyway, I don't want you to worry, I'm not in any trouble. Just out for a bit. You know—" there was a rustle of clothes, the squeak of a phonebox door, a woman's voice hissing quietly, _What are you doing?_ , a dog barking, "Just... listen, if you don't hear from me in a while, have a killer Halloween, all right? I, umm, I gotta go." The click of the receiver was the last thing Sirius heard before the answerphone ended the message.

Sirius sighed. "Fuck, Reg, what are you doing caught up in that shit again?" he said to himself. He knew his brother was slipping back into the scene. He had thought Reg had got clean and was out of that mess but Sirius was beginning to think that maybe it went deeper than that. Could Reg be mixed in with the DE, the terrorist group that he and his team were investigating at work? Sirius's blood ran cold at the thought. His baby brother couldn't be a terrorist, could he?


	39. 040 100-Word Drabble

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 14, Prompt: 100 word drabble

Pairing: Oliver/Katie/Marcus

word count: 100

Oliver Wood stood in just his pants at the back door of his house, staring out at the rain-soaked field he and his lovers used for Quidditch. His thoughts drifted to Katie and Marcus, upstairs sleeping soundly and sated, curled around one another. She'd been so nervous at first but Marcus had been tender and sweet and before it was over she had been breathing his name. Oliver was immensely glad that everything had gone well. Now if only he could find the courage to ask the both of them to marry him, he'd be the happiest bloke in Britain.


	40. 041 Black Cat

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 14, Prompt: black cat

word count: 454

Pansy rolled her eyes at her younger sister, Pippa. She was toting around her pet, a scrawny, underfed black cat who looked like he would appreciate being put out of his misery than be in Pippa's arms any longer.

"You should have got a cage for him," Pansy told her.

"No! Pansy, I couldn't bear to lock him up!" Pippa whinged. Third-year Pansy didn't think she had been that annoying and whiny as a first year.

"Now children, please don't argue. We won't see you for the next four months and I want everything to be pleasant," their mother said.

Princeton wasn't listening to their mother, instead, he was complaining to their father. "I can't believe I didn't get made Head Boy, I bet that prick Weasley did."

"Princeton, you know I've explained how unfair Gryffindor headmasters are, they're so prejudiced they can't see what's right in front of them."

"At least you're still a prefect, Princeton darling," their mother added.

"How come I wasn't allowed a pet first year?" Pansy asked her parents just to have something to say.

"I didn't think you liked cats, Pansy dear," her father said, looking at her in confusion.

"I don't—"

"How could you not like cats, Pansy?" her little sister interrupted.

"We already have a family owl, you don't need—" Princeton said over her.

The Hogwarts Express whistled sharply and drowned out both of them.

"Oh, better get on the train my dears. Behave yourselves," their mother exclaimed, gesturing them toward the train. "Be nice to each other!" She called as they moved away.

"That means pretend like you don't know me," Pansy told her siblings.

"As long as you keep your snotty little nose out my business," Princeton said, glaring at her.

"And what business is that?" she asked, "Not that stupid firewhisky racket you had going last year?"

"No. I've got something else in mind."

"Whatever, just as long as you don't taint my reputation by destroying yours."

"What reputation would that be, besides being a stuck up bitch?"

The train rocked as it started moving and the whistle blew again. Pippa's cat decided that was the moment he'd had enough and he attacked her face with his claws and teeth to be free of her. Princeton and Pansy stopped their arguing to look at their little sister. She had tears forming in her eyes and long scratches down her cheeks that were starting to bleed where the cat had clawed her.

"Oh, Pippa," Princeton said, kneeling in front of her and pulling his wand. "I'll heal her. Pansy, can you go catch the cat?"

Pansy sighed in frustration but nodded, trudging down the compartment car looking for the blasted black cat.


	41. 042 Bellatrix

**Death Eater Express** , Day 14, Prompt:

Bellatrix Lestrange / Divination cards / a cursed dagger / "All I've got to do is kill a man pure of blood and wicked of mind."

Pairing: Rodolphus/Bellatrix

word count: 530

(Muggle, police noir? AU)

Regulus watched the carnival worker flip the tarot cards over one at a time. Both the cards and her fingers were crusted with dirt, though that wasn't surprising, everything in this carnival was covered in grim. He was sitting with his cousin Bellatrix and she was the one having the reading done. He didn't particularly believe in fortune telling but Bella seemed to as she was staring intently with wide, wild eyes. She was also high as a fucking kite.

He looked around the little booth as he sat on the wobbly, wooden chair next to Bella. The room was dim to add to the atmosphere but Reg thought it was dim to cover up how worn, threadbare, and moth-eaten all the textiles were. The tablecloth was a frilly purply-pink and there was tulle hanging around the walls, making the tiny room feel cramped.

Bella let out a cackling laugh when the last card was revealed. The fortune teller shuddered theatrically as she pointed to the last three cards. "Temperance reversed, Death, and the Lovers," the fortune teller croaked. "It's an ominous sign, I think. Temperance shows the dilution of-"

Bella laughed again and stood, fingering the dagger she had hooked into her belt. She'd haggled over the 'cursed' dagger with another vendor and once it was in her hands had threatened the poor man with it. He might have closed his stand prematurely because he'd pissed himself in fear, but Reg wasn't sure. The man had smelled of piss and beer before they'd spoken to him.

"So all I've got to do is kill a man pure of blood and wicked of mind, hmm?" Bellatrix asked the old woman. The woman might have started trembling but she tucked her hands under the table to hide them. "That won't be difficult. Where's Dolph?" Bella turned and pranced out, giggling madly and shrieking for her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange. When he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into his chest outside of the fortune teller's shack she squealed.

"What has you so ecstatic, love?" Dolph hummed, his voice pitched low and husky. Regulus turned and looked away as Dolph lowered his mouth to lick and nip at Bella's jaw.

"That witch in there says I need to kill you..."

"Does she now?"

"Mmhmm," she said, calming a little, "death comes for the pure of blood and wicked of mind..."

"Would le petite mort be enough to satisfy the fates, do you think?" he said quietly.

Regulus twitched and tried to ignore them as Dolph directed them to an alcove, almost completely hidden in the gloom of nightfall. He listened as Bella fell to her knees, giggling, and as she lowered the zip on Dolph's jeans. Dolph's groan and the slurp of Bella's mouth on him had Reg wanting to move away from them.

He couldn't though. Bella had the drugs he wanted. She had promised she'd give them to him as long as he met up with a few other members of the DE, the organisation she and Dolph wanted him to join. He wasn't keen on it but if it got his hands on a more potent fix, he'd do it.


	42. 043 Past, Present, Future

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 15, Prompt: past, present, future all in one fic

word count: 285

It was something he would have to try. Stepping out of the stream of time and back into it. He wasn't sure if all of his Arithmancy was correct but he was going to try it. He knew he could prove his theory correct.

He recorded the date in his journal, leaving his pocket watch open on the desktop beside his ink and quill.

 **23 December 1962 – 3:13 in the afternoon**

He stood back into the dark corner of his office and held the intricate clock-like pendant in his hand. He said the incantation.

There was an odd spinning sensation that felt like he was twisting backwards, turning the wrong way, and then he was back in his office. In front of him was a man with dark hair and dark robes, hunched over the desk, writing.

He crept forward and looked over the shoulder of the hunching man. The man was in the process of writing something.

 **23 December 196**

Before the note was fully written he stepped back into the dark corner and cast the incantation non-verbally. There was no one in the office with him. He strode forward and looked at the written note.

 **23 December 1962 – 3:13 in the afternoon**

He looked at the watch placed deliberately on top of the journal and then added another note below the one already written.

 **23 December 1962 – 6:49 in the evening**

One last retreat to the corner and incantation later found himself still alone. He grinned smugly as he read what was written on the diary page, underneath the watch that read 3:15.

 **23 December 1962 – 3:13 in the afternoon**

 **23 December 1962 – 6:49 in the evening**


	43. 044 Voodoo Dolls

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 15, Prompt: Voodoo Dolls

word count: 224

Kingsley breathed deeply and adjusted his tie and the lapels of his jacket. He might need to have the fit on his arms altered, it seemed the weightlifting he'd recently begun engaging in might actually be making a difference. He blinked and twisted his wrist, subtly checking the time on his watch. He tapped his fingers on his thigh and his toes in his shoes and let his mind wander to the professional Quidditch game he would be going to see later in the month. He licked his lips, raised his eyebrows for a moment, turned his head, nodded.

His gaze dropped to the oddly lumpy form under his dinner partner's napkin and then back up to look the other man in the eyes. "Pardon me, Minister, but except for a small isolated group of practitioners in the Caribbean and West Africa, we don't typically use Voodoo dolls." He paused and watched the slight disappointment flash in the eyes of the paranoid man sharing a meal with him.

"Oh," he paused looking down at the misshapen doll under the napkin. He swallowed thickly and then returned his eyes to Kingsley, "What else can I do to, you know, hurt my enemies?"

Kingsley didn't bother being subtle with his sigh this time. Why was he the one having to deal with this particular Muggle?


	44. 045 Draco II

**Death Eater Express** , Day 15, Prompt:

Draco Malfoy / a werewolf / "I think we're lost." / "Is that... blood?"

word count: 275

Draco trampled through the undergrowth tugging on Hermione's hand with a desperation she didn't understand. Finally, he came to a stop in the middle of a small clearing and looked around, spinning in circles like he was searching for something.

Hermione panted and tried to catch her breath and ask the million questions that were spiralling through her mind, "What—"

"Shh," Draco answered in response. He turned to look at her and his pale blond hair seemed to glow unnaturally in the moonlight. "I think we lost him."

"I think we're lost," she retorted, frustrated at his hushing her. "Who are we running from?"

He tilted his head at her in a mood that reminded her oddly of a puppy a friend had had once. "Is that... blood?" he asked, seemingly incongruently. He stepped forward and reached for her arm. Thin red strips of blood were starting to well up where the thin branches had whipped her as he tucked her through the forest.

"Who are we running from?" She asked again, jerking her arm from his tight grip.

There was a howl in the distance and a shiver raced up Hermione's spine. Was that a werewolf? She looked up into Draco's face, expecting to see a hint of panic or worry.

"Who said we're running from anyone?" he asked. His body twisted and jerked in an odd angle and when he locked his eyes with hers, his were glowing yellow in the shadows from the trees while light from the full moon cast lines of illumination across his torso and jaw. There was another howl, this time much closer. "I just wanted you first."


	45. 046 Real Life as Fiction

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 16, Prompt: a piece from your life as fanfiction

word count: 492

Vera stared up at the tall walls and open windows of the owlery and watched as some of the owls looked back down at her in interest. There was a pit in her belly where her stomach usually sat and everything inside of her clenched at the idea of taking another step forward.

The hair on her arms and neck had raised and her skin felt like it was crawling, gooseflesh covered every bit of her torso. Her back started itching and her muscles twitched as one of the owls hooted. Another fluffed its wings and flew from one alcove to another.

Vera tried to breathe to calm herself but all she managed to do was smell the odd odour of owl droppings and pellets and it made her nauseous.

What had Severus done? Raised his arm and called for the owl to land on him? There was no way... she couldn't do it. The owl would be too close to her. His sharp little beak would be too close to her fingers and face.

She turned her head slowly to see if there was a table or desk nearby. There was one, with scrap parchment and quill tucked away for quick missives. Maybe if she pointed at the table when she called the owl to her, he would understand and land on the table for her to give him her letter. She released the breath she'd been holding and took slow, deliberate steps to the table. She looked back into the room with the owls.

Most of them were watching her now, the oddity in their space. Vera swallowed and her mouth felt as dry as sand. She didn't even know which owl it was by sight, so she had no idea which way it would come at her.

"Shakespeare?" she said quietly. When no owl moved she made a few kissy noises and called a little louder. "Shakespeare?"

There was flapping and feathers and a bird headed directly at her and fear kicked in and she turned around and ran towards the doorway, bumping into a student heading up the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, Vera panted and clung to the wall, terrified that the owl might have followed her for some reason.

When the student came back down the paused to look at her. "Are you all right?"

Vera swallowed again and nodded when she realised she couldn't find her voice.

"Are you sure? You're crying. Did one of the owls nip you?"

Vera shook her head side to side.

The student seemed to study her for a moment. "Would you like me to give your letter to an owl?"

Vera shook her head and finally found her voice. "No, thanks. I'm... I'm supposed to do it. My professor wants me to try and get over my fear."

"Ah. Good luck then," the student said and then left Vera alone at the bottom of the owlery tower.


	46. 047 Bones

**AN:** Warning for gore.

* * *

 **Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 16, Prompt: bones

word count: 795

Sirius found himself in a war zone. He tossed away the broken cauldron handle that he'd used as a Portkey and ducked behind the rubbish bins nearby. A jet of red spell fire erupted above his head and the lid of the bin flew off and banged loudly against the brick of the house Sirius was hiding against.

He leaned out around the bins to get a better look at what was going on. Death Eaters and Order Members were trading spell fire in the front yard of the Bones's house. There was a high-pitched scream of a little boy and Sirius's heart lurched into his throat. Shit. Edgar's kids were still in the house.

Sirius checked the other way and found it clear and he turned and ran around the back of the house. He jumped over the low garden wall and spotted Conor Mulciber carrying a small limp body over his shoulder. Bile rose in Sirius's throat when he saw the body liberally draining blood in their wake.

He wanted to rush in and avenge the child's death—and he knew it had been gruesome and torturous if Mulicber had anything to do with it—but he couldn't; Sirius needed to get to through the house to give Edgar back up.

Sirius slipped in the back door and tried to listen for any other children's screams, but the crackle and crash of spells as they burst against brick, glass, and shield spells was deafening. He could only hope that Edgar's wife had been able to get the other two boys out of the house.

Through the front window, Sirius saw a slight lull in the action as Mulciber darted out and dropped the corpse of the child in front of Edgar. The older man's scream of rage couldn't mask the horror and heartbreak in the father's voice. Sirius rushed through the door and started flinging spells in rapid succession at the Death Eaters. He'd thought that with the death of the child and subsequent flaunting of it, they would start retreating.

They didn't. Sirius could hear his deranged cousin Bellatrix cackling behind her mask as he volleyed spells in her direction. To his right, he saw more spells as Edgar rejoined the fight beside him.

Sirius heard a yell that he recognised and saw James and Lily join him and Edgar from the right in trying to fight off the siege of Death Eaters in black robes and silver masks. There was a pained yelp from Edgar and Sirius turned in time to see the older man stumble and a flood of red start to pour from the man's lower stomach. He looked confused and in shock and Sirius knew something horrible had happened.

"James, need cover!" he shouted and then dove towards Edgar, bracing his arm against the man's stomach. That's when he knew what the curse was. Edgar's intestines tried to slip out over Sirius's hand and arm even as Edgar shifted to try and rejoin the fight. Sirius wanted to shout at Edgar to fall back, to lay down, to let the remaining Order members continue the fight. He needed to lay down so Sirius could try and heal him before too much more damage was done. He didn't get the chance. Another spell slammed into Edgar's chest and knocked him back several feet and Sirius tried to move with him, tried to keep his insides on the inside but in the jostling Sirius could feel more pouring out and there was so much blood and as Edgar toppled Sirius's hand slipped inside of his guts and Sirius gagged but held on, desperate to try and save him.

He held on as Edgar coughed and gagged and flinched and looked him in the eye. "Care?" he asked and then he died.

Sirius just sat there staring at him as tears formed in his eyes. He could hear the spellfire fade around him, Bella's cruel laugh after she shouted the spell that would cast the Dark Mark into the sky, the sound of multiple Apparitions as the Death Eaters fled.

Then there was soft hand touching his shoulders, another pair on his back. "Come on, Sirius, we need to get his body to St Mungo's morgue," James said softly.

Sirius looked up over his shoulder to see James and Lily, dishevelled but not hurt. He could feel tears crawling down his face, catching on his stubble. "Care—Caroline Bones, the other boys?"

James shook his head. They'd lost the entire Bones family. Sirius didn't remember standing or how he got back to his flat but he did remember the feel of Edgar's entrails, slippery and wet in his hands, as he stood in his shower fully dressed to try and wash the blood away.


	47. 048 Antonin

**Death Eater Express** , Day 16, Prompt:

Antonin Dolohov / a cabin in the woods / "There's a bear out there." / "Aren't you a little old to be Trick or Treating?"

word count: 337

Antonin Dolohov sipped his firewhisky and propped his feet up on the low table in front of his fireplace enjoying the way the heat seeped into his wool socks. He closed his eyes and listened to the crackle of the flames as they danced over the dry logs. The whisky had finally started to do its job and he was pleasantly floating on a cloud of ambivalence and warmth. He inhaled the scent of cinnamon and relished the smokey flavour coating his tongue. He didn't want to go up to his loft, the chill would keep him awake. What he wouldn't give for a good invigorating fuck to keep the cold away before he fell asleep.

As he was starting to doze a crash and scrambling at his door roused him immediately. A young woman flung herself through the front door of his cabin and slammed it behind her, panting and pressing her back against it like she wanted to bar the door and keep whatever had been chasing her outside.

He raised his eyebrows at the girl. Dark, messy hair, blue eyes, Muggle clothing. How did a Muggle find him in his little cabin in the woods? "Aren't you a little old to be Trick or Treating?" he asked the stranger from where he sat.

She caught her breath enough to say, "There's a bear out there!" Her eyes were wide and terrified.

Her fear and words tickled something in him and caught him off guard; he let out a low chuckle that seemed to terrify her even more. She stared at him as he stood and moved closer to her, towering over her. "That's not a bear. That's a werewolf."

"Were—werewolf?" she questioned, eyes so innocent.

He braced his hands on the door on either side of her shoulders and leaned down to her ear to whisper, "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you." The whimper that came from her sparked the fire burning in his groin that much higher. He would enjoy this.


	48. 049 Breaking Up

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 17, Prompt: breaking up

Pairing: Harry/Ginny

word count: 304

Harry stared at her, taking in her fiery hair dancing around her pale face, the bitter anger on her lips and the lost desperation in her eyes. He noticed the differences: the wrinkles around her eyes, the weight she'd gained bearing him their three children, the tired set of her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I just can't... I can't keep going. It's... You're not even trying any more."

Harry swallowed and nodded. "Where will you go?" he asked, letting his eyes drift down and linger on her hands as she tugged at her shirt's hem and her sleeves and finally tucked them out of sight by crossing her arms.

"Back to the Burrow. Mum will help me take care of the kids until..." she trailed off and her lips made an odd quirk like she wasn't sure what to say. "Well, until the divorce is final."

"I love you, Ginny."

Her lips formed into a frown and her jaw shifted like she bit her cheek. He knew what she would say, _'If you really loved me you would have tried harder.'_ Instead, she just nodded once. "I know." She squirmed under his intense stare, like she wasn't accustomed to the way he looked at her, studied her. "Are you going to fight me for them?"

His head jerked to the side as if she'd slapped him. He'd almost wanted to say yes, to say no. He didn't know. He loved her. He loved their children. He couldn't recall their faces, their birthdays, their favourite toys. He had no business trying to be their father.

"No," he whispered. His gaze shifted to look past her. He saw her nod in his periphery. Then she turned and left, a silent _POP_ of Disapparition. The kids had already been taken to the Burrow. He was alone.


	49. 051 Fenrir

**Death Eater Express** , Day 17, Prompt:

Fenrir Greyback / a blood moon / "Some things are beyond control or reason." / "All I wanted was a little pumpkin spice."

word count: 324

When Fenrir awoke after his transformation, expecting to be covered in blood, as usual, he found he was in a cage instead. It took him a few lazy minutes to remember what the hell was going on.

"Snape!" he called where he lounged on the cage floor using the pile of clothing as a pillow rather than wearing it.

Severus Snape stepped into the room and Fenrir felt the protective enchantments around the cage flutter as he stepped closer. He raised a single black eyebrow at Fenrir but otherwise made no mention of Fenrir's nakedness. "What, wolf?" he asked.

"What did you give me last night?"

"A potion the Dark Lord asked me to administer, he had other plans for the lunar eclipse and didn't want you savaging the Death Eaters and _guests_ at the revel."

Fenrir's upper lip curled over his teeth, angry that he'd missed the blood moon by spending it in a cage in a basement somewhere rather than running wild like he was born to. Bitten to. Whatever.

"How do you feel? You made quite the ruckus when you found yourself trapped."

Fenrir ceased his snarl as he tilted his head to think. He scratched at his chest and then lowered it to scratch at his bollocks. "All I wanted was a little pumpkin spice."

He observed Snape out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the stoic man would crack a smile at the absurdity of the craving.

"Some things are beyond control or reason," he answered. He turned on his heel and his black cloak billowed around him as he started up the stairs to leave.

"Hey, aren't you going to let me out?" Fenrir called back to him.

"I don't think I will," Snape said, his low voice bouncing off the stone on its way down to Fenrir's sensitive ears.

"Fuck you, Snape, at least bring me one of those pumpkin scones you baked last night!"


	50. 052 Involve Your Pet

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 18, Prompt: involve your pet

word count: 185

"Astoria, get your noisy cat out of my room!" Daphne shouted at her younger sister.

Astoria came into the hall from her room and padded into Daphne's room to scoop up her long-haired orange noise-maker. "Why are you so mean to her?"

"She hasn't stopped meowing for the last half hour and I'm trying to read. Why does she come meowing at me, anyway? She's your cat; don't you feed her?"

Astoria opened her mouth to answer Daphne when she was interrupted by another whining, annoying meow from the orange beast.

"Hush, you stupid cat," Daphne said to it.

"Don't call her stupid! And of course I feed her, she's just—"

 _"Meow!"_

Astoria looked down at the fluffy critter in her arms, "Hush, please, I trying to—"

" _Me-ooow._ "

Daphne snorted despite knowing it was not lady-like behaviour. "Just keep her away from me for a while, she's driving me crazy with all the noise."

Astoria gave her sister a guilty look as if to say that the cat was bothering her too. "Fine, I'll—"

" _Meee-ow_!"

"Oh for goodness sake! Please hush, Eowyn!" Astoria exclaimed.

" _Meow_!"


	51. 053 Haunted

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 18, Prompt: haunted

word count: 447

It started after Hermione returned to Hogwarts for her seventh year. Just a little whisper every so often in her ear in, surprisingly, Bellatrix Lestrange's voice. "They're judging you. You've got to do better."

And so she did. Hermione Granger left the hallowed halls of Hogwarts as one of the highest scoring students in the thousand years since its founding.

The whispers followed her to Muggle university. "Look at them. They think they're better than you. Show them, show them how it is you who could rule over them."

And she did, in a way. She joined organisations that gave her an in into government and law. Pushed for new regulations, new rights. Privileges.

When Hermione joined the Ministry, the whispering grew louder and more frequent. "You know better than them. You could rule, you would be a great Minister for Magic."

And so she did. Hermione worked long, hard hours and neglected her health, her friends, her heart. She had something to prove.

When she became Minister for Magic, the whispers grew insidious. "If you change this law, you could give yourself more power... all you need to do is slip it into the new addendum you're getting passed. Just a little law. You know you'd be a wonderful queen. You know better than all of these peasants. Take it, take power. You could be queen."

And she almost did. One little slip, one little change in wording and she could have given crowned herself Queen of Magical Britain.

It was Luna that told her something was wrong. One night, when Hermione had stayed hours past normal business hours, Luna Lovegood happened to come to the Ministry for a visit. Because she came during non-working hours, Luna was directed to the Minister to authorise a Portkey.

"Hermione?" Luna asked, looking at the frazzled, aged woman who had once been her friend. "Did you know you have a ghost haunting you?"

"What?"

"Yeah, she looks something like Bellatrix Lestrange." Luna tilted her head up and looked at Hermione's hair, frizzy as it had always been but the same as she'd started styling it in her last year of Hogwarts. "You sort of look like her too, you know."

Hermione's eyes went wide and she reached up to her hair to tug on a curl near her neck. Her hairstyle had been suggested by the whispers. She turned around, towards where Luna had been staring and saw for the first time the owner of the whispers.

The ghost of Bellatrix just shrugged her transparent shoulders and pouted her bottom lip. "We were going to be great, Hermione. Queen. The Dark Queen." Her eyes flashed with a maniacal glint.


	52. 054 Thorfinn

**Death Eater Express** , Day 18, Prompt:

Thorfinn Rowle / Samhain Ball / a blood sacrifice / "What I wouldn't give to get a peek under your mask... and your dress."

word count: 555

Sixteen-year-old Thorfinn Rowle was ecstatic he'd been chosen to to wield the ritual knife for the blood sacrifice during the Samhain Ball; it was an immense honour. He hadn't been told much about what he was supposed to do but he remembered watching on previous occasions.

At the beginning of the ball, the casting Wizard would open the sacred circle and purify the sacrifice, Thorfinn, the knife and the space itself and then call the invocation to the magic and the gods. After that, Thorfinn would subdue the sacrifice and carve the runes into its hide before killing it.

Thorfinn donned his black dress robes and made his way down to the ballroom. He stood next to his father and held his head high as he greeted each guest with a nod of his head.

"Come on, Thor," his father said as he directed him to one end of the ballroom where the sacred circle was drawn on the floor in salt. Thorfinn stopped short when he saw what was in the circle. There was a woman in a long dress and a mask, bound hand and foot and tied to a vertical post in the centre of the circle. His eyes widened as he looked at her; last year's sacrifice had been a goat. In fact, every Samhain Ball he'd ever attended had been an animal of some kind. Had it been a glamour to protect his innocent child eyes until he was a man capable of handling the truth? Or was this something new. He assumed the woman was a Muggle and since Muggles were practically animals then this wouldn't be any different. Except where the goat had bleated pitifully when its flesh was cut he expected the woman would scream. He swallowed his nerves. "You'll do fine," his father said, discreetly moving him toward the circle from where he'd stopped by gripping his shoulder in a display of camaraderie.

Thorfinn nodded and took his place, stepping over the salt and picking up the knife. He felt the casting Wizard purify each of the components, in turn, liking the way the magic washed over him like a misting fountain.

He'd not been told he couldn't speak so before he started, while he was deciding the best place to carve the sequence of runes he murmured to the woman. "What I wouldn't give to get a peek under your mask... and your dress." Her eyes were glossy and wet, but strikingly blue and reminded him of the Mediterranean. Her mouth was bound with a strip of cloth, but he doubted that would stop the screams she was bound to emit.

He turned the ritual knife in his hand and decided the best place would be across her thigh. He would start at her knee and work his way up. He used his hands to rip her dress, not wanting to contaminate the knife with lint from the cloth. It was only meant for cutting flesh and soaking up blood.

She yelped loudly as the fabric ripped and she tried to start begging around the gag. Thorfinn focused on his task and knelt to get started.

Later he wondered at the foul taste of bile and the sick feeling he had after starting the ritual. Was he supposed to feel this way for following tradition?


	53. 055 Domestic Bliss

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 19, Prompt: domestic bliss

Pairing: James/Lily

word count: 112

"Dance with me?" James said, offering his hand to Lily. She gave him a look of confusion and looked around. They were standing in the empty kitchen of the house they had just bought. There was no furniture, no music.

"Why? There's no music."

"Because," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a waltz, "We don't need external music. Listen to the music in our hearts." He twirled her and she fell into step with him as he led her. "Happiness is dancing in the kitchen, Lily, and I don't know if I could be any happier than at this moment."

She smiled and looked up at him. "Love you."


	54. 056 Coffin

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 19, Prompt: coffin

word count: 546

"Ah man, I don't remember signing up to do this sort of thing," Ron grumbled as both he and Harry slipped through the ajar mausoleum door. He expected dust to stir up as they crept in or to be overwhelmed with the smell of rotting flesh, but aside from the smell of freshly dug earth from further out of the cemetery, he couldn't smell anything out of the ordinary. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Yep," Harry answered in a quiet whisper, "Dirt on the floor is disturbed, no dust, busted lock on the door... this is it. You remember the spells?"

"I'm a highly trained Auror, same as you. What do you think?"

"That I trust you at my back," Harry said, reassuring Ron of his necessity.

"So you have intel on who this rogue vamp might be?"

Harry stopped and gestured with his chin to the altar at the end of the room. "I bet you even know with that sort of display."

In the centre of the space on the altar was an ostentatious bright pink coffin, so bright that Ron could see the colour in the dim light from the newly risen moon. "Merlin's saggy y-fronts, really?"

"Yep." Harry stayed close to the wall and kept his wand aimed at the coffin in case the occupant was ready to venture out for mealtime. "Ready?" He didn't have time to wait for Ron's answer as the coffin lid opened. Ron almost expected its hinge to creak but this was a new coffin, it wasn't going to creak.

Dolores Umbridge sat up and fluffed her hair before bracing her hands on the side of the coffin to raise herself up.

"No need to get up," Harry said, standing and casting the protection spell.

"What are you—Now see here, I'm a Ministry offi—"

"What you are, Dolores, is done. You're under arrest for breaking and entering St Mungo's hospital and assault on five—"

"Hem, hem!"

"If you resist we're authorised to use deadly force, Umbridge," Harry added as he watched her start to splutter.

"I am a Ministry official, how dare—"

"Is this resisting, mate?" Ron asked, wand aimed at Umbridge's chest. He wrinkled his nose as he noted details about her appearance. She still seemed to prefer pink but now it was combined with a bit of reddish brown stains down her chest. It wasn't a good look.

"I am a Ministry official and I will have you thrown in Azkaban for assaulting me!" she started again.

Harry sighed and shared a look with Ron. Ron stunned her. Harry raised his eyebrows at him. "Didn't want to be the one to do it?" he asked.

"Nah, just think she should have to answer for her crimes."

"You know they'll just push for capital punishment. I mean, she infected five people. One of which was Lockhart. If Neville hadn't been on the Janus Thickery Ward visiting his parents, who knows how many people she would have infected or killed."

"Yeah, well, still. Didn't feel right." Ron looked back at Umbridge, who had fallen mostly back into her ridiculous pink coffin. "We have to bring the entire thing, don't we?" He asked with a sigh. Sometimes he really didn't like being an Auror.


	55. 057 Amycus, Alecto

**AN:** Warning for incest.

* * *

 **Death Eater Express** , Day 19, Prompt:

Amycus Carrow / Alecto Carrow / a pagan rite / "Brother... Please..." / "You always knew this day would come."

Pairing: Amycus/Alecto

word count: 356

"Brother..." Alecto panted, out of her mind with lust and on the verge of her orgasm, "Please..."

Amycus snapped his hips hard and turned the dial on the sex toy strapped to her clit. He could hear the buzzing whir louder than her moans but only for a second before she was gasping and shouting as her orgasm washed over her. He knew she was always extremely sensitive afterwards but she always clenched so tightly around him when he'd leave it revved up like that so he did it anyway.

She let out a squeal as the buzzing little toy overstimulated her and her vaginal walls clenched so tightly around him he saw stars. He turned the little wheel control on the vibrator down and off and she squirmed, moving forward and pulling off his dick to slump into the pillows below her.

"That was perfect, Ami," she said, humming in satisfaction.

He smacked a hand down on her arse cheek. "Roll over and share the pillows." When she did, he flopped down beside her and focused on catching his breath. "This was the last time, Ally."

She pouted and turned to look at him. "Why?"

"You know why. I'm getting married tomorrow," he said, raising his arm to rest over his eyes because he couldn't bear to look her in the face.

"You didn't have to choose that stupid pagan rite that ensures fidelity to her."

"That wasn't my choice. You always knew this day would come eventually. One of us would get married and we'd have to stop behaving this way."

"Why do you think I never got married, brother?"

He snorted at her words and peeked out from under his arm to catch her gaze. "Because no sane wizard would have you."

Her jaw dropped open at the dig and she snatched her wand off the table next to the bed. "You take that back, you berk."

"Nope, don't think I will."

He regretted taunting his sister the following day as he met his new bride in the sacred circle; the stinging hexes she'd attacked him with left red welts in conspicuous places.


	56. 058 A Never Finished Fic

**AN:** Yeah, so this was meant to be "that one fic you've been holding off finishing and finish it" ... well, all of my HP stuff is active. The fics I haven't finished I haven't posted. So this is going to be an epilogue-ish thing to one of my abandoned fics. I guess.

"He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not" (a Walking Dead fanfiction)

 **Warning:** gore and horror

* * *

 **NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 20, Prompt: a never finished fic

word count: 1,164

Daisy was pissed. Her supposed rescuers had helped her deliver her baby and then taken him from her. Told her she was too sinned to keep him. Despite fighting her way out of drug addiction and climbing out of poverty by doing something she enjoyed but these religious fanatics disapproved of, she wasn't good enough to keep him. Well, she would show them. She sat looking over the compound, scrapping at narrow strips of wood making arrows.

They were well armed, she knew that, but she'd been trained to hunt from a young age. She would just be hunting humans instead of animals. She didn't think there was much difference these days.

She didn't expect to make it out alive. She'd lost Merle in Atlanta, lost Daryl outside the farm when the herd had plowed through. She thought these people had been her lucky break. Except they were crazy. Crazy beyond Herschel's hope for a miracle. They'd taken her child and she was going to get him back.

She approached their compound from the east after dark. It was their least defended access point. She forced herself to work around her aching, leaking breasts. How were they feeding her son? She probably shouldn't be moving as much as she was but Daisy felt she had no choice. She climbed the tree near the access point then eased to the limb and hung down onto the platform. She crouched and canvased the area.

She sunk an arrow into each of the guard's heads and then skirted the outside of the main building. Systematically, she slunk through the compound, loosing arrows into the unsuspecting patrols. There were a few arrows that missed their mark, those homemade ones, whether because she'd accidentally curved the shafts or skimped on the makeshift feathers. One of them dropped down at just the right angle to pierce the throat of Yvonne, the one who'd taken her son from her. The white and brown feathers she filched from the bird's nest beyond the compound walls decorated her dirty throat like jewelry and her scarlet blood stained the front of her dress like a bib.

Daisy felt no remorse.

Finally, she found herself in the small room, an emptied closet really, that they'd set aside for the baby. She walked in on silent steps, not wanting to wake him. In the dim light of dawn, she could see his pale skin. Why wasn't he covered with a blanket? It was winter and cool in the room. She stepped closer and cooed at him, reached down to touch him.

His skin was cold and she felt a moment a panic but then he stirred and her heart started to soar. This was her son! He was so small. She started to reach into the crib with one hand, reached up to free her breasts with the other when he opened his eyes. Milky, dead eyes.

Daisy's breath caught in her throat and she stumbled back a step. "No," she whispered. The baby reached out to her, opened his mouth like he wanted her milk, but she couldn't bring herself to touch him, to pick him up. He didn't cry like a baby should, instead, he made a sick whining sound. He didn't have the teeth to bite or the strength in his limbs to tear at flesh. He would always be that small, always be there on his back. Did the walking dead starve?

She sat on the floor and stared at the crib, at the abhorrence inside. She deliberated kept her back to the door. She had no desire to continue living. She had fought for her son, had survived for him, but he didn't need her any longer. Not like that.

She didn't know how long she sat there. If her stomach growled or ached for nourishment she didn't notice. If her legs and rump went numb, she didn't care. Her breasts ached. And still, she sat there looking at the crib. The baby had gone quiet again.

There was a shuffling sound and that ragged breathing that alerted her to a walking corpse. She closed her eyes and tried not to be scared. She debated praying but pray never seemed to help anyone. Not Herschel and his wife, not these fanatics, not her son.

She felt a tug on her hair and she held her breath.

There was a twang of a crossbow bolt firing and the thud of a body falling and Daisy wondered if she'd started hallucinating. She hadn't taken anything, hadn't even eaten any of the mushrooms out in the woods. Quiet, deliberate footsteps headed her way and then she might have prayed.

"Daisy," Daryl called into the quiet. She felt him reach down and touch her shoulder, her hair. "I thought I'd lost you," he murmured. "Is that...?"

"No," she said, her voice dry and quiet. "No, our son is dead. That's something else."

He stepped around her, walked to the crib and leaned down. The baby made that whining sound again, reached for his father's hand. Daisy watched impassively as Daryl reached down and stroked the little child's hair, a little tuff of brown like his. He pulled his hunting knife from the sheath. He leaned over the crib. She didn't to watch but she forced herself. She watched as Daryl gently held the baby's head, turned it, and slid his knife into the back. The baby's feeble movements stilled.

He removed the knife, wiped its blade on his pants in an unconscious move and tucked it back into its sheath. He caressed the infant's head again and then picked up a blanket from the edge of the crib Daisy hadn't seen. He carefully picked up the child, held his head and neck like he knew that was what he should do, and bundled the newborn up in the blanket. He fashioned a sling and cradled the baby to his chest.

When he finally turned to look at her she heard him sniff, an oddly wet snuffle. Daisy couldn't bring herself to cry. "Come on," he told her.

"I don't have any arrows left," she said feebly, attempting to raise her bow and wincing at the ache in her breasts. He reached down and helped her stand.

"Why didn't you take them from the bodies as you went?" he asked, gesturing to the corpse behind her. Daisy let her gaze travel over the walker. It was Yvonne. Her makeshift arrow decorating her throat. Daryl reached down and pulled his bolt from her skull. He'd pierced her eye socket and the eye deflated and a pocket of goo splashed up as he tugged the bolt from her brain.

"Didn't plan to come back out."

He picked up his crossbow from where he'd set it by the door and handed her a bundle of her hot pink feathered arrows that he must have gathered on the way in. "Well, that was a stupid plan, wasn't it?" he asked.


	57. 059 Broomsticks

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 20, Prompt: broomsticks

Pairing: George/Angelina/Fred

word count: 412

"So what do you think?" the shop clerk at Quidditch Supplies asked Angelina. On the counter in front of her were two brooms and she was debating the merits of each before she purchased one. Angelina raised her hand to tap her finger against her bottom lip in thought. Suddenly a freckled arm wrapped itself around her waist, startling her. When she looked up to she saw Fred grinning at her.

"Didn't know you were in the market for a new broomstick, Johnson," he said.

"Much less two," George added from her other side. He hadn't stepped as close or touched her but she could feel the energy that vibrated off him all the same.

"Is there something wrong with your old one?" Fred asked, raising an eyebrow at her. He pointed to the closest one on the counter. "This one's handle seems really smooth."

"I don't know. This one," George said, pointing to the other racer, "has a longer bit until you get to the knot where it bends." She could hear the innuendo colouring their voices and she glanced at the shop clerk who seemed oblivious.

Fred pointed back to the first one, "This one's got a rounded end on it, though."

"Ooo, is that how you like it?" George asked, giving her a teasing glance. "I'm sure we could find something that's long, smooth, and rounded on the end."

"Exactly, George! That's a brilliant idea. It's perfect."

"But she needs two, see?" George said, pointing to the two broomsticks on the counter.

Angelina rolled her eyes and leaned against Fred, enjoying the heat that reached her through his shirt. "Are you two going to get to the point anytime soon?"

"Yeah, you don't need to buy a new broomstick. We've got just what you're looking for, isn't that right George?"

George bounced his eyebrows at her.

Angelina bid goodbye to the shop clerk, who looked put upon to return the broomsticks to their case without making a sale and walked back to Fred and George's shop at the end of the Alley.

With the added privacy, George seemed to waver slightly. "You know, you don't have to... we were just playing around..."

"Was it not an offer? What if I want to play with two broomsticks?"

George's ears turned a light shade of pink. "I think we can oblige," he said, as he glanced at his twin. Fred just squeezed her waist to acknowledge his approval of the idea.


	58. 060 Severus, Lily

**Death Eater Express** , Day 20, Prompt:

Severus Snape / Lily Evans / "Halloween is a stupid tradition!" / "Why are you such a creep these days?"

word count: 343

Severus pushed a lank lock of hair behind his ear and passed the book on the library table closer to Lily. He tapped the passage he wanted her to read and looked up to keep an eye out for Madam Pince.

"What is this?" Lily whispered back, her brow furrowing as she looked back down at the book.

Severus couldn't bring himself to actually explain it; the rite he'd read in the book was salacious and it sparked his thoughts in naughty ways. He didn't know what she would think of the consensual Samhain sex rite but he couldn't help picturing both her and himself doing it together.

She pushed the book away and looked back up at him with a disgusted frown on her face. "Halloween is a stupid tradition," she told him in a harsh whisper. "Why are you such a creep these days, anyway? I don't want to read that sort of thing."

Severus winced. "Sorry. I just thought..." He didn't know what he expected. Maybe to see her blush or something. He liked her but she had never returned the sentiment. He might try to flirt with her every so often but he was really bad at it. He'd told himself repeatedly that he'd rather have her friendship than push her away by being creepy but sometimes he forgot himself. "Sorry," he repeated quietly.

Yet she didn't seem too angry with him for sharing it. "It's a bit gross, isn't it? Why would anyone want to do that?"

"It's supposed to feel really good," he said, thankful she wasn't really mad at him.

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I don't think I'd ever want to put my mouth _there_ much less have someone do it to me. Isn't that unsanitary?"

Severus shrugged, "Maybe. I don't know." He tried really hard not to think of either Lily's mouth or her snatch as she pushed the book back to him and went back to her homework. He tugged his robes and hoped no one noticed his embarrassing boner.


	59. 061 A Holiday Celebration

**AN:** So this sort of went off from the "celebration" part but the muse sort of took control and I was happy to let it. Have some Tonks family (pre-celebration) fluff.

* * *

 **NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 21, Prompt: a holiday celebration

Pairing: Ted/Andromeda

word count: 904

"Are we ready to go?" Ted Tonks asked, calling up the stairs of their home to his wife and daughter. His parents were having a Christmas party and they were going to be late if they didn't get a move on.

"We're working on something," Andromeda called down.

Ted frowned, her tone indicated she was flustered and Andromeda Black Tonks rarely lost her cool; he decided to head upstairs to see what she was upset about.

He heard her voice, stern and scolding, from their five-year-old daughter's room. "You mustn't change your hair colour like that at this party, Nymphadora. Now make it brown so I can put the charm on it."

"No! I want it red and green for Christmas!"

"Nymphadora..." Andromeda's voice had taken on that tone that indicated she was coming to the end of her tether. Her own parents had resulted to stinging hex and worse to punish her and her sisters and sometimes Andromeda had trouble not falling back on corporal punishment when she was pushed to the limit of her patience. That's when Ted always knew to step in. He knew Andy didn't want to hurt their daughter, knew in his heart that they'd talked about punishments and disciplines and she didn't want to be like her parents, but he also knew that in her heart she thought they worked. She had always obeyed her parents for the threat of punishment or afterwards desisted whatever behaviour had got her punished in the first place.

He slipped into the room to find Andromeda with her wand drawn, not in anger or frustration, but to cast the Stasis Charm on Nymphadora's hair and features so she couldn't accidentally morph in front of Muggles. His daughter was looking defiantly up at her mother with a duck's beak for a nose and hair that faded between red and green like twinkle lights. He sighed loud enough for both to hear and turn to him.

Andromeda was at her wit's end and her hair was starting to frizz in her frustration. He walked closer to her and wrapped his arm around her waist. He leaned into her and kissed her temple before whispering. "Take a moment, calm down, I'll deal with her. I love you."

Andy knew she had been pushed to her limit nodded and left the room without another word. Hopefully to take a sip of Calming Draught to settle her anger. Ted turned to look at their beautiful little girl.

"Dora," he said, kneeling in front of her and holding out his arms. Her face morphed back to normal and she sprang into her daddy's arms.

"Why is she so mean! I just want to be festive!"

Ted pressed his lips to her forehead and tried to find the words to ease the relation between mother and daughter. Both were almost too headstrong for their own good. He smiled to himself and wondered if there was anything she might have taken after him on.

"I know you want to be festive and normally Gramps and Gran don't have a problem with your ever-changing hair but there are going to be Muggles at the Christmas party and your abilities, your magic, will scare them. We don't want to scare Gramps and Gran's friends, do we?"

She shook her head back and forth and stepped back to look up at him. "It's not because I'm weird?"

"Of course not, pumpkin," he smiled as her hair shifted to a golden orange before returning to her red-green fade. "Will you relax the morph so we can see your lovely features? You look so much like your Mum..."

She let the red and green hair shimmer back to brown, a lighter shade than Andy's, closer to his dirty blond. She apparently had shifted her eyebrows and ears as well and those returned to the face he'd first seen moments after her birth, the one that was a mix between his beautiful Andy's face and his own.

"You have to put the Stasis Charm on, don't you?" she asked, pouting.

"You know I do. Until you can control it, which might be years and years from now when you go to Hogwarts, we have to put the Stasis Charm on so you don't get excited and morph without thinking. All right?" he asked.

She nodded and he pulled his wand and cast the spell to keep her looking like his parents' Muggle friends were used to seeing her.

"It itches," she complained.

"I know, sweetie, but you know what?"

"What?"

"There's going to presents at the Christmas party..."

Her eyes went wide with excitement. "Really?"

"Of course, pumpkin."

Her nose wrinkled as the Stasis Charm held. It was his test. Calling her pumpkin always made her hair change to golden orange.

Andromeda met them at the foot of the stairs, her hair back in its smooth plait, and a calm, loving expression on her face. "There's our beautiful girl," she said, holding her arms out to Dora. When Nymphadora hesitated, Ted nudged her, and she flung herself forward into her mother's arms. "I'm sorry I lost my temper, Dora," she whispered.

"It's okay, Mummy," she replied. "Let's go to the party, Daddy says there will be presents!"

Ted smiled as he watched the loves of his life tidy their clothes and proceed him from the room. He was so blessed to have them in his life.


	60. 062 Magic

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 21, Prompt: magic

word count: 552

"Mum?" Dudley Dursley said into the phone, his voice was shaky and he sounded almost faint.

"Yes, Duddy-kins?" Petunia answered, worrying for her son.

"Well, you know Daisy had her sixth birthday last month..." he started but stopped to apparently close the door to the room he was in; she could hear the lock click. His voice echoed like was in the toilet.

"What's wrong, Dudley?" Petunia said, foregoing any more nicknames as she perceived her son's distress.

"...what sorts of things did, you know, Harry do when he was a kid?" he finally asked.

Petunia was unsure what he was asking—or implying. "I don't know what you mean, sweetie, he was always misbehaving, causing trouble..."

"No, Mum, I mean really. Not the things you and Dad told other people; what did he _do_?"

She wanted to pretend that her nephew had done nothing unusual, had been only a spoiled, ungrateful brat with a penchant for mischief, but she could tell by the tremor in Dudley's voice that he would not accept her normalising the past or covering it up with the lies she and Vernon had concocted to sleep better at night.

"He turned his teacher's hair blue once," she said, starting stiltedly before picking up speed like she was in a confessional, "he regrew his hair overnight, he shrunk a sweater to doll-size proportions—one of your old sweaters, mind—he sometimes made things fly. The few toys we'd allow him, the blanket he arrived on our doorstep in until it was ripped and I threw it out. He had the uncanny ability to unlock the cupb... cupboard door."

It was with the last line that her guilt and regret started to strangle her and she lost the ability to speak momentarily. After another pause when she'd gathered herself properly, she continued, "He made lights flash and flicker, he blew up your Aunt Marge..."

"I remember that," Dudley said, sounding more at ease now. "Do you have a way to contact him... _them_?"

"Why?" Petunia asked, her tone screechy and uncomfortable. "Please, not my grandbaby, not... no. I refuse to believe it."

"Mum, please," he said, his tone pleading, "She was playing with Hazel and I swear, she made their toys fly. I think she might have—"

Petunia found herself overwhelmed. With thoughts of the owl and the letter that arrived for her sister, of that witch coming to speak with her family about precious Lily and her fancy school, with her own letter to the headmaster and the subsequent mortification to find that Lily and her nasty little friend had read it, her bitterness and hatred for her sister, of learning of her death and being foisted with her son. The torment of having to care for him and the troubles he gave her and Vernon. Having to leave their home because of him. She still put Vernon's heart attack and death at the boy's feet, altogether too ready to blame his health troubles on her nephew despite knowing it was both her and her husband's own fault for his failed health. She couldn't fathom, couldn't begin to possibly imagine it happening a third time: Her and Lily, Dudley and Harry, and now again, Hazel and Daisy.

She hung up the phone before he spoke _that_ word.

"—magic."


	61. 063 Rabastan

**Death Eater Express** , Day 21, Prompt:

Rabastan Lestrange / a wedding ring / "What the fuck am I doing naked in the woods?" / "Fermented pumpkin juice can suck my great big..."

word count: 515

Rabastan Lestrange stretched and felt his back pop. His neck was sore and he skin broke into gooseflesh. He opened his eyes and frowned when he saw tree branches, leaves, and blue sky. He brought his hand to his face to rub at his eyes and noticed the weight of something on his fingers. He turned his hand this way and that until he spotted the heavy metal band on his ring finger. A Muggle wedding ring? What was he doing wearing a wedding ring? He shifted and sat up, only then realising his state of undress.

"What the fuck am I doing naked in the woods?"

He looked around for his clothes and spotted them under a large oak. He stood and walked, very slowly so he wouldn't hurt his tender feet on acorns, to the pile of clothes. Shuffling through the pile he found not only his clothes but a few pieces that might have belonged to a woman. He pulled his robes on and heard something crinkle in his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and unfolded it.

 _Certificate of Marriage_ was written across the top and below was the name "Stan Strange" in his handwriting. The girl's writing was jerky and illegible. It was dated for the previous day. Apparently, he'd married someone over the anvil. "Wonderful," he grumbled, "Fermented pumpkin juice can suck my great big..." he trailed off as he caught sight of a foot and followed it to the rest of a body.

The woman, probably just of age, was stiff with rigor and naked. "What the hell did I do?"

He knelt beside her and touched some of the darkening marks around her neck. They matched his hands. "Fuck," he said, standing and stepping back. The events of the previous evening came rushing back to him. He'd met Marie here in the sex club Lucius was always going on about. The only thing Lucius deigned worthy of mingling with Muggles for. She had wanted to try erotic asphyxiation. After the first explosive encounter at the sex club—hers because of the lack of oxygen head rush and his from the sense of power it gave him to wrap his fingers around her neck—she'd begged him to marry her, saying crazy things like she'd never love anyone nearly as much as she'd love him. It would have ended there had Rodolphus not supplied him with fermented pumpkin juice throughout the night. He'd only kept drinking it to try and block out the image of Bella locked in stocks and being abused by Muggles in every hole.

Things got a lot blurrier after that. He supposed that after the marriage, he'd Apparated her here, scaring her half to death, then proceeded to make good on the consummation part of a marriage. He didn't even remember if he'd had her more than once before he'd killed her. He frowned at her as he flicked his wand and Transfigured her corpse into a rock.

It was a shame, from what he could remember she'd been a fairly good fuck.


	62. 064 One-Shot

The prompt for today was to write a one-shot off of a longer fic. I've already been doing that all this month.

Prompts **008 Pumpkins** , **019 Bad Things** , **031 Smut** , and **046 Real Life as Fanfic** are from a story I hope to start posting in January called Her Name was Vera. Prompt **047 Bones** was from the same universe as After (and the World Went On). Prompt **034 Major Character Death** was a prequel to the Concentric series. Prompt **024 Rabastan & Hermione** was from the Strange Bedfellows universe (still an unpublished WIP). Prompt **043 Past, Present, Future** is from the Entailed universe that I will be working on come November for NaNoWriMo.

This one is going to be a one-shot-ish bit from my current fic called War Bride. It's one of those scenes I plotted but when I got to it it just didn't fit the mood of the story at the time. So I'll plunk it in here.

* * *

 **NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 22, Prompt: a one-shot off a longer fic

Pairing: Draco/Hermione/Rabastan

Word count: 888

Hermione watched as both Rabastan and Draco clashed together in a passionate and angry snog. The arguing between them had reached a crescendo and exploded into mad sex. She didn't think that was particularly a bad thing. She heard their teeth click together as one and then the other tried to dominate and Draco's fingers came up to tug on the damp hair at Bass's neck. Bass grunted and reached up, clenched Draco's button front in both hands and jerked. Buttons when flying in all directions and Hermione hummed as she waited for her chance to step into the mix. Surely their anger would settle and passion was flare soon.

Draco had retaliated by pulling harder on Bass's hair and nipping down his jaw. When he bit Rabastan's neck Bass raked his short nails down Draco's chest leaving red welts.

Hermione frowned; she didn't like when they hurt each other.

Bass shoved Draco backwards and he landed with a bounce on the bed. Before he could right himself Bass yanked on Draco's trousers and the clasp failed; they pulled free of his ankles with another tug.

Hermione smiled as Bass gripped Draco's hard cock in one hand and sank to his knees to take him into his mouth. The harshness of their anger must have faded, Bass wouldn't do anything to truly hurt Draco. She decided it was time to join in.

She moved forward and sat on the edge of the bed to kiss the red marks on Draco's chest first then she moved to flick her tongue over one of his nipples. Draco groaned and reached up and tangled his fingers in her hair. He brought her up to kiss him and she complied for a few moments before pulling away. It wouldn't do to get distracted and not implement the plan that she and Bass had concocted.

She moved down and around, pulling the towel from Rabastan's body enjoying the way his skin was still hot and damp from the shower he'd just finished taking. Hermione kissed down along his side and over a thigh and he seemed to get the message. He shifted more onto his knees and spread his legs widely, all the while solely focused on bringing Draco to the brink of pleasure.

Hermione laid on the bed and moved under Bass's spread legs. She nuzzled his bollocks and she heard him groan. He reached down and pet her hair before returning his hand to Draco's thigh for balance. Hermione let her lips and mouth work what she could reach of him while her hands smoothed over Bass's arse cheeks. She worked by touch alone, using the lube she'd carried to the bed with her to coat her fingers to massage and open him up. She listened carefully as both he and Draco's breathing got heavier and their moans happened in tandem. She would do something to Bass that would feel delightful and the vibration of his moan would set Draco off.

"Stop, Bass, please, as much as I love your mouth I need to fuck. Hermione?" He looked down to see her between Bass's legs.

"Nope, you're going to fuck Bass," she said as she moved out from under Rabastan and came to sit beside them.

Draco tipped his head back and whined, "I want to go now, though."

"She already prepped, Drake," Bass said leaning forward to capture Draco's lips in another kiss. This one was much softer and entirely more sensual. Hermione leaned forward and kissed and licked at Bass's throat.

"Oh," Draco said as they pulled back, he leaned over and kissed Hermione before moving to get behind Bass.

"Prop that sexy little arse up here, Hermione," Bass said, patting the bed in front of him.

"No, I want to face you. I haven't got nearly enough kisses today."

He smiled and helped her move under him. He leaned down to kiss her and she felt him tense and groan as Draco moved into him. After a moment he got his senses back and shifted enough to slide into her.

He moaned in her ear. "Didn't take that into consideration. I don't think I'm going to last, you two," he muttered.

That was was Hermione had expected when she'd done her research. "Oh, no, I don't think so," she said, teasing. "You're not going to come until I do." She smiled slyly up at him and reached down to touch his cock where he was joined with her with her fingertips and cast one of the new non-verbal wandless spells she'd learned. Bass's mouth dropped open and his eyes closed; she felt him shudder over her.

"Bass, you okay?" Draco asked, rubbing Bass's back to ease any twinges of pain.

Bass trembled and moved between them before breathing deeply. "Merlin..." he said, breathy with pleasure. "She put a cock ring on me."

Draco's masculine chuckle drifted to her from behind Bass. "Seems our little bookworm has been researching naughty things," he said. He started to move and Rabastan's eyes fluttered and he huffed out another breathy moan.

"Move, Bass," Hermione murmured, pressing her hips up against him as much as she could. He nodded like he got the message. When he finally started to move between her and Draco, Hermione closed her eyes and hummed in pleasure. She hoped the rest of their birthday week would go as well as this encounter had.


	63. 065 Bats

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 23, Prompt: bats

word count: 279

Rita Skeeter was regretting her choice to run the series of articles libelling the Granger girl for necromancy. She had not counted on the Black brothers the girl somehow returned to life to be as ruthless and cruel as Rita had heard previous generations of Blacks to be.

She had miscalculated enormously.

The eldest brother, the Gryffindor, had trapped her in her Animagus form. Now as a little green beetle, she flittered back and forth from under a piece of back and a pile of leaves, hiding. It was the younger brother, Regulus, who had suggested leaving her wandless in the middle of a forest as dusk was falling. She had thought it would be a simple thing to just fly out until she realised what sorts of creatures came out during the night.

Owls hooted over her. Padded paws of a clawed cat tread nearby. Snuffling from a fox came close a time or two. Worst of all, the high-pitched screeching of the colony of bats that clouded the darkening sky and blotted out the stars.

Rita couldn't put her guard down, she couldn't rest. If she did, she was going to die. Being eaten alive sounded like a horrible way to go.

She wondered if they had intended for her to die or if this was just a test. Would they even be suspected of her abduction and murder? Without a crime scene or a body, she suspected that her murder would go unsolved despite the fact that Granger and the brothers had plenty of motive. So did half the bloody country and some people on the continent.

How was she ever going to survive this night?


	64. 066 Draco III

**Death Eater Express** , Day 22, Prompt:

Draco Malfoy / a haunted library / "Look what I've caught in my web." / "Don't worry, Draco. You're only going mad."

word count: 630

Draco had not known understood what had happened. The Dark Lord had taken a liking to the odd Luney Lovegood and requested she visit his rooms. Soon after that, Lovegood had started being allowed more freedoms around the manor and the longer the war dragged on, the more she was allowed free reign. She took over hosting from Draco's mother, an unheard of faux pas, but as it was at the Dark Lord's request Narcissa could do nothing but agree and back out gracefully. Even Aunt Bellatrix started to get snubbed which only made her more simpering and violent. Even Draco couldn't tolerate being in her presence for very long lately.

Lovegood was allowed to take over the library and Draco felt bitter as he was kept from the only solace he'd found.

Then the battle at Hogwarts happened and suddenly the Dark Lord was dead. Draco did not know what had happened to Lovegood. Had she been allowed free from the house? Had one of the house-elves freed her?

His mother and father were both being held at the Ministry and he was finally allowed to return home. After a long day's sleep, Draco woke and showered. A house-elf delivered dinner and he dined in his room and afterwards decided to go to the library and lose himself in his favourite books.

As soon as he entered the room, however, something felt very wrong. The hair on the back of his neck raised and he reached for his wand before he remembered he didn't have one any longer. He stepped back, thinking maybe a book wasn't the best idea, but the doors had shut behind him. He turned and tugged on them, they'd never locked on their own before; the manor library was not haunted!

There was a soft, feminine giggle behind him and he turned around to face the intruder though his back stayed glued to the door.

It was Lovegood. Yet... not. She looked taller. Older. Her hair was styled in curling ringlets and looked more like the colour of straw than dishwater.

Hadn't she left? Why was she still here?

"Look what I've caught in my web," she said, looking at him strangely.

"The Dark Lord's dead, Luna," he said, though his voice tremored with fear. There was something very wrong about this.

"Oh, I know." She walked the few steps towards him until she stood just in front of him, within arms reach. She touched the hem of his sleeve with dainty fingers and smiled to herself at the feel. "How long do you plan to stay?" Her voice seemed to echo in his head and he felt his fear slipping away, maybe he wouldn't run as soon as the door was unlocked.

His vision tinted red, giving Luna an odd highlight to her curls. They bounced around her face as she reached further up and tucked her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. She pulled him closer to her lips and he found himself staring at them; cupid's bow, soft, plump, kissable lips. She licked them, wetting them and Draco whimpered. His mind was struggling against the red tint in his eyes, the desperate urge to kiss her, the need to bow and kiss the hem of her robes, and the weakening feeling of needing to run in fear.

Something in his mind whispered, _"The Dark Lord lives,"_ but another voice, Luna's voice responded. _"Dark Mistress. Dark Queen."_

Luna pulled him closer with a strength he didn't think should come from her slight frame. She forced a kiss on his lips and every desire in his body fled except the one to serve her. She smiled, deadly, cruel; sharpened teeth overcrowded her mouth. "Don't worry, Draco. You're only going mad."


	65. 067 In Their Youth

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 23, Prompt: under the age of 18/in their youth

word count: 271

"What did you catch there, Lysander?" Great-Grandpapa Newt asked from where he was sitting bundled up against the cold in his wheelchair. His hair, what little there was left, had gone all white and Mama had crocheted him a thick woollen hat and scarf to wear.

"I think it's a Jibbering Blumdinger!" the young boy said, walking close so Great-Grandpapa could see the little green creature in his hands.

"Ah, I see now," Newt told him after he'd leaned forward to get a better look. "Not quite a Blibbering Humdinger, Lysander, it's a Bowtruckle. I used to be friends with one named Pickett."

Lorcan shuffled over, wrapped tightly in the fuzzy blanket Mama had made. He wasn't allowed past the porch and Great-Grandpapa Newt's Warm Air Charms because he was sick. "What's a Pickett?"

"Pickett was a who," Newt corrected gently, but added, "I suppose he was a what too. Pickett was my friend and a Bowtruckle. He liked to eat wood lice and fairy eggs and he and his branch guarded their little English oak tree in my case when I visited New York. Would you like to hear about my trip to New York?"

Both boys nodded and Lysander handed the Bowtruckle to Newt who gave it a home on the lapel of his jacket. "All right boys, come settle down. Lorcan, son, share the blanket. It's too cold to sit on the floor without a blanket." Newt moved his wheelchair so he was sitting more in a shaft of warm sunlight to combat the chill. "Now, before I went to New York, I had been on an adventure..."


	66. 068 Ghost

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 23, Prompt: ghost

word count: 739

Vincent Crabbe sat up and looked around. Everything was ashes. What had, wait, where was the fiendfyre? Who had controlled it? He hadn't been able to. Why the hell did bloody Carrow teach them the spell if they couldn't control it? Vince reached up and scratched his shoulder. Where was everybody? He remembered being afraid and a lot of heat. He must have found somewhere to hide, though, because here he was alive and w...

He blinked at the odd lump of ash and coal beside him. What was that?

He reached out and tried to touch the thing and his hand brushed through it. At first, he figured it was just because the ash was so lightweight he didn't feel it but if that was the case shouldn't the shape have crumbled?

He backed up from it, crab-crawling back in anxious fear. What was that? Farther away, his mind picked up details he hadn't noticed when directly beside it. The lump sort of looked like a human body. That was creepy. How did he wake up next to a burnt husk of a body made of ash and not be burned?

He reached up and touched his face and then his arms. The feel of his skin under his fingertips was strange and when he looked down he realised how wrong they looked. The skin was raised and bumpy and dry-looking, like rough hide leather. He yelped as he did so and pulled on his robes to see more. His robes looked wrong. There were threadbare spots and holes and where they had rested on his skin they tugged funny but nothing hurt.

What the hell had happened to him? He took a deep breath and looked around again, maybe if he could... if he... was he floating? Oh no. _Oh no._ Whatever breath he had taken to calm himself left in a rush. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't. No. He didn't want to believe it but when he looked around, looked _down_ , at the large room and everything was ashes he didn't think it could be anything else. His gaze returned to the lump of ashes, the body. _His body_.

There was a ghostly wail in the silence and Vincent winced. Had that noise come from him? Without giving it much thought beyond the desperate need for a mirror he felt his body zoom towards the seventh-floor boys' lavatory. What he saw in the glass was wrong, was horrible. How, how could this have happened.

He was translucent, of course, but... he'd never be able to join in with the other ghosts, never be friendly with the students of the school. It was horrible. He would terrify everyone who saw him. As he stared in horror at his own reflection he heard a soft rustling and whistling. He hid in the toilet stall.

"Who's there?" a voice said. There was a moment of quiet, except for that rustling got louder. "It's all right, you know. I'm the Fat Friar, you know, the ghost of Hufflepuff House? There's been a lot of deaths in the school. I have no doubt that you're one of them. Do you want to come out and introduce yourself?"

"No," Vince said. The sound of the word was backed up with another emotional wail. "Stay away."

The rustling moved closer and then the translucent face of the Fat Friar slipped through the stall wall.

"Hello, child," the ghost said as he looked at him. The Friar did not cringe or look away, did not look at him with pity. Vincent felt another wave of emotion move through and he wailed again. "You're Crabbe, aren't you? I talked with the Baron about his charges and he mentioned you. Why don't you come with me and I'll introduce you around, hmm?"

"I can't," he said, shaking his head. He could still picture the monster in the mirror.

"Well, you can't hide in the toilet forever," and then he lowered his voice and raised his hand, whispering, "You don't want to be like Myrtle, do you?"

Vince felt a little smirk tug at his lips. "I'll scare everyone."

"You don't scare me, son. Now come on, meeting everyone will help." Vincent nodded and followed reluctantly. He hoped meeting the rest would help though he didn't know if it would. He still was having a hard time with the thought that he was now a ghost.


	67. 069 Death Eaters

**AN:** Warning: Attempted crackfic and Americanisms. I have no idea if ASDA customers are like their American Wal*Mart counterparts and thus chose to use the stores with which I'm more familiar. This didn't come out nearly as humorous as I was intending and I just got tired of looking at it.

* * *

 **Death Eater Express** , Day 23, Prompt:

Antonin Dolohov / Thorfinn Rowle / Rabastan Lestrange / Lucius Malfoy / "May the best man win." / "Happy Halloween hunting, gentlemen."

word count: 2,183

"All right," Rabastan said, straightening the colourful t-shirt that one of the Weasley boys had lent him. He felt ridiculous wearing the Muggle clothes but he knew he would fit in better than Antonin, who hadn't gone to anyone for fashion help and was sporting heavy boots and a long skirt. Even Rabastan knew that Muggle men didn't wear skirts.

"So, what's the plan of action?" Thorfinn asked, looking around the back alley of the building where they had arrived by Portkey. He bumped Rabastan on the arm and pointed to a reedy looking person with long hair looking at them with their head tilted sideways. "Do you think that one saw us arrive?"

"Maybe. We'll have to be more careful."

"The plan of action," Lucius said, sniffing disdainfully at the other three, "is to get in and split up. We need to find the perfect birthday gift for the Granger woman."

"You still haven't learned her name, have you?" Antonin asked, shaking his head and huffing a little chuckle.

"Fan or Jan or something," Lucius said, wafting his hand at Antonin like it was unimportant.

Thorfinn said, "Jean."

"Jeanalise," Rabastan added.

"Whatever. Hermione's mother. Hermione said her mother was a fan of the eclectic so I'm sure we'll find something here. This is the source of everything eclectic in the Muggle world."

Rabastan frowned and quirked his brows at Lucius's assessment and glanced at Thorfinn who was also looking sceptical.

"Splitting up. Right." Antonin agreed. The four of them walked around the side of the enormous building and came round to the front. The doors slid open at their approach and Rabastan at first wondered where the house-elf was before remembering that house-elves were invisible to Muggles.

The walked through the entrance and Thorfinn eyed the trolleys before walking over to pull one from the line. He grabbed one and tugged and the entire line of them moved forward. He raised his hands at the screeching sound of all their wheels dragging across the floor. He turned around and walked right back to them. "Probably don't need one after all," he explained.

They walked together into the main area and Rabastan squinted at the harsh lighting. "It's very bright for two in the morning."

"I didn't think we would want to be seen by the general populous," Lucius answered.

"Sure it wasn't because you forgot?" He turned a cold glare at Rabastan.

As they all looked around, Thorfinn pointed toward the shelves of food. "Probably nothing eclectic over there, right? I'll start down this line here then."

"Rab, you head in that direction. Antonin and I will survey the centre section. Happy Halloween hunting, gentlemen."

Rabastan grumbled, "May the best man win," under his breath as nodded and turned to the left. He walked pasted about two dozen kiosks marked with large numbers. Without the presences of the other men's chatter he could hear the humming of machines, the constant low thrum in his ears unnerved him but he balled his hands into fists to steady himself. He saw a few employees, dressed in navy or bright yellow. The kiosks gave way to a second entrance and then shelves of merchandise began. He decided to be systematic about things and started at the first one.

All of the tiny boxes had to do with handling symptoms of illnesses and head colds. There were things for pain that promised to alleviate symptoms and provide relief. Where these Muggle potions? He would have compared it to the pre-brewed potions at the apothecary, but there were five or six aisles of them rather than just a few shelves. He saw no individual ingredients until he found a wall of yellow bottles that had some ingredients he was familiar with; milk thistle, St John's wort, valerian root. None of them seemed like the ingredients to make the potions on the shelves, however. He figured that none of these would be the proper gift and moved on.

Next, he came across shampoo potions and teeth cleaning potions. He paused in front of the potions meant to combat body odour and picked one of the items up. The smell that wafted towards his face with the movement was overpoweringly strong. They weren't offensive but they weren't pleasant. This wasn't perfume, was it? Toiletries and the like were more often a woman's gift to another woman. He set the odd bottle down and went to the next aisle. Soft, squishy-looking packages that advertised their protective properties and their discretion. Surely, if they were trying to be discreet they wouldn't put whatever these were in such vibrantly-coloured packages or have an entire aisle where just anyone could see the purchase. He didn't think this was what Hermione had in mind when she'd said eclectic.

In the back corner of that aisle, he came across small clear vials and boxes. By the innuendo on the labels, he could infer that these were supposed to aid in intercourse. He had no intentions of giving a gift of that nature to his wife's mother. He turned and it was then that he noticed he was being followed. The person, a middle-aged man, was standing at the end of the aisle and Rabastan had caught him peeking around the display at him. Did this Muggle think he was a thief? What a ridiculous thought. Why would he need a potion for lubrication when a spell worked just as well? He moved on to the next aisle, very aware of the man tailing him.

He skipped past all the pet food but stopped to linger at the wall of illuminated aquariums. The few fish they contained looked sickly and swam slowly. Did Muggle keep fish as pets? What was the point of that? He shook his head and noticed the doors that lead to another section. They looked like the doors that had automatically opened at the entrance but these didn't move. He stepped in front of them and furrowed his brow. Did he have to open these himself? He reached forward and pushed. They didn't move. He didn't see a handle of any sort with which to pull them open. How did one access the other section?

"Umm, excuse me, sir?" A short, heavyset woman in navy said from behind him. He turned and assessed her.

"Yes?" he asked.

Her eyes seemed to widen when she saw his face and then she flushed a sickly puce and didn't look up again. Instead, she spoke to his chest. "The Garden Center is closed. It reopens at six."

"Right. Thank you," he said, trying not to sneer. He turned and looked once more through the glass doors hoping that the elusive birthday gift for Jeanalise wasn't in there before he turned and walked past the tubby little woman. He decided to head back the way he came to see if Lucius or the others had found anything.

As he passed the pain relief potions again he slowed in his stride when he spotted another customer. It was a young man with dirty hair and a foul smell about him and he was scratching at the inside of his elbow as he browsed the shelves. The man shifted this way and that and glanced around him, startling sharply when he saw Rabastan looking at him curiously. He scratched his head and went back to browsing the shelf.

Halfway past the numbered kiosks, he found Lucius looking supercilious as he stood in front of a glass cabinet that housed jewellery. He was being addressed by a plain looking woman in blue.

"The jewellery counter is closed, sir, but..."

"Yes, yes, closed, whatever. I'd like to see the most expensive pieces you have," Lucius said, speaking over the woman.

"Umm, okay, let me go get my supervisor, she might be able to—"

Lucius waved her off and turned to look at Rabastan, his gaze darting to Rab's empty hands. "Nothing?"

"It was mostly toiletries. Not suitable gift items."

Lucius's lips pursed in annoyance. "Did you see Antonin on your way back?"

Rab shook his head and turned to the returning woman in blue. There was another woman with her wearing that eye-blinding yellow.

"Can I help you?" the new woman said, her gaze slipping over both Rabastan and Lucius, seemingly documenting them in her mind.

"Yes, I'd like to see the most expensive pieces you have," Lucius said, pointing toward the jewellery case. "I'm looking to make a purchase and I have the g—" he cleared his throat quickly to cover his almost-slip, "cash. I have the cash."

The woman in charge raised both her eyebrows and nodded. She moved around the counter, jangling the keys around her wrist as she sought the right one. She was frowning to herself as she looked through the cases and unlocked the one she wanted. As she was busy pulling things out to look at, Antonin joined them, carrying a pillow and a flat metal board of some sort.

"What is it you've found, Antonin?"

He held out the pillow first. It was orange and blue in an odd floral pattern. It was hideous.

"It's ghastly," Lucius said with a nod. "It might just do. What was the other thing?"

Antonin turned it around and showed off the odd flower-cityscape abstract art. "I don't know what it's supposed to be, but the colours go with the pillow."

Rabastan nodded. He thought both were beyond ugly. Lucius's lip curled as he looked at the artwork. "I don't know about that. It might be too meh." He turned and looked over the paltry selection of jewellery the clerk had pulled out. His brow furrowed and his frown deepened. "Are these engagement rings?"

"That's what you wanted to see, wasn't it?"

"Of course not! I was expecting heirloom pieces; pendants or bracelets covered in jewels."

"Well, you asked for the most expensive, this is it."

He sneered. "This won't do at all. Put it away." He turned away, ignoring the employee again. She made a face at him behind his back. He focused on Rabastan. "I don't suppose you know where Thorfinn wandered off to, do you?"

"So the artwork thing is a no?" Antonin asked. Lucius waved his hand at it as if to ask why it was still in his sight and Antonin leaned it against the counter. The clerk wrinkled her nose as she watched him discard it. Rabastan heard her sigh.

There was a loud shout from the front of the store and they all turned at the noise. "Hey!" It was Thorfinn's voice. "No, wait, what are you doing? No, I'm not stealing it, I'm not. Lucius'll pay for it. Hey Lucius," Thorfinn shouted, drawing the attention of even more of the sparsely populated store, "Come tell this guy you're paying for it. I'm not stealing!"

The three remaining Death Eaters turned to share a look and Lucius rolled his eyes. "What's he got himself into this time?" He mumbled. He strutted towards the disturbance and Rabastan tried not to snicker. If Lucius had been wearing robes they would have flounced behind him; the odd combination of woollen trousers, wellies, and a faded t-shirt proclaiming his love of Black Sabbath didn't have quite the same impact as well-tailored robes and a cloak.

Rabastan and Antonin followed Lucius to the commotion at the front of the store. A stout man in a black uniform had Thorfinn bound with his hands behind his back, obviously arresting him. Thorfinn had orange powder around his lips and in his beard. A glance at the trolley nearby showed a torn open case of fizzy drink like Hermione tended to stock for Thorfinn, an open can of the drink, and an open bag of the foul cheese-like puff things that he indulged in.

"See?" Thorfinn said to the man holding him hostage, "Just as Lucius, there, I wasn't stealing. He's paying for it. We're co-husbands so it's all on one tab."

The man that had tailed Rabastan was nearby and the yellow-clad manager looked at him and said quietly. "Co-husband? Is that legal? Can they arrest him for that?" The man was too busy glaring at Rabastan with suspicion to answer her.

Lucius just waved his hand at Thorfinn and the Muggle Auror. "He's like this sometimes, I do apologise. We don't take him out often and when we do it's to a local shop that has an open line of credit. If you'll direct me to the till I'll pay for whatever it was that he was walking off with," he turned to look at Antonin and he pointed to the orange and blue pillow again. "And that pillow, and do you have anything else in that pattern? Oh," his gaze sought out the manager who had shown them the jewellery, "and that art thing he put down, you'll be a good girl and go get it, won't you dear?"

From the look on all the employee's faces, Rabastan wondered if they could be arrested or kicked out of the store for being obnoxious pricks.


	68. 070 Prompt Grab Bag

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 24, Prompt: a challenge given to you by someone else

Prompt grab bag provided by the awesome members of the NaNoWriMo Support Group!

Jacob Black / Diagon Alley / Stonehenge / Goblins in Gringotts turn rogue & refuse to follow the Ministry of Magic's rules and guidelines...

word count: 519

Jacob Black, wearing only cut off jean shorts, hadn't been paying any attention to where they were going, instead, he was looking up at all the buildings and signs around him leaving the crowd of pedestrians around them to scramble this way and that out of his path. "So, we're going somewhere magical, right? Like Stonehenge?"

Minister for Magic, Hermione Granger, rolled her eyes and tugged harder on his hand when he stopped in the middle of the pavement. The foot traffic broke around them like flood waters around an ancient tree trunk and Hermione almost pulled herself off her feet when the six-foot-seven block of muscle decided he didn't want to keep walking.

She sighed and straightened her suit jacket. "Mr Black," she said, trying to capture his attention again. "You've got to be quiet about it. You're already drawing so much attention to us because you won't put on proper clothing! Please, just come with me!"

He was looking up at the building facades again. She wished she'd just followed Harry's advice and retrieved the shape shifter via Portkey instead of offering him a short tour of the city and the small magical community of Diagon Alley. He was just too curious and stubborn and Hermione was already tired of dealing with the perpetually twenty-year-old.

When he finally looked back down at her, he smiled and gestured for her to lead on. She nodded and led them through the Leaky Cauldron. He watched her tap the bricks and the wall disappear and then he was fascinated by the people rushing from shop to shop. "Are these all...?"

"Yes," Hermione answered. She marched toward Ollivander's, intent to learn if the magical abilities of natural shape shifter could be focused through a wand. Before they'd reached the wand maker's shop, there was a screeching sound that Hermione recognised at her secretary's voice.

"Minister Granger, Minister Granger!" the girl said, rushing forward and almost colliding with Hermione. She only gave Jacob a quick glance before she explained what had had her in such a fit. "The goblins in Gringotts, Minister! They've gone rogue! There's going to be another Goblin War! They won't work with Wizards or Wizards! The Ministry is falling apart; all our gold is trapped in the caves under the bank! We're all doomed!"

"I can't believe I've got to do this shit again," Hermione grumbled. She sighed, unbuttoned her suit jacket, and transfigured her shoes into something a bit more practical then looked up at Jacob Black. "Do you have any qualms about breaking into a bank? You might get to ride a dragon."

His jaw dropped. "Dragon? And what are goblins? Do I need to eat goblins? Are they something I _can_ eat?"

She grinned. "At this point, I don't care. Sure. Let's go get you a goblin kebab."

He backed up away from them and seemed to shift inside his own skin until he became the giant wolf that had got flagged the British Ministry of Magic in the first place. He nodded his enormous head at her as if to say, "We got this."


	69. 071 Zombies

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 24, Prompt: zombies

word count: 332

Regulus shook his head, shaking away the odd feeling that had come over him from the vile green potion. He looked around and found himself on a small dirt mound. Creatures were moving towards him in the dim light. Where had the cave gone? He squinted to try and see the creatures but his nose picked up their smell before he could get a clear picture.

They smelled of death.

Inferi.

He aimed his wand and sent a ball of fire hurtling through the air at one. It knocked the thing back but to Regulus's horror, the creature didn't flinch or run away, it regained its feet and came toward him again.

What the hell?

He glanced around, searching for a way to evade the flaming creature returning to him as well as the others when something flew past his head with a whistling sound and sunk into the gooey eye socket of the flaming Inferi.

"You've got to shoot them in the head, don't you know that?" a gruff, American voice shouted from behind him. There was other sounds, footsteps, a click, a latch, and then another twang. Another Inferi felled.

Regulus didn't wait for further instructions from the apparent saviour and sent Reductor curses at the heads of the closest zombies. The splat that followed the explosion made bile rise in his throat but it stopped the oncoming creatures. He continued and side-by-side with his arrow-loosing saviour destroyed all the zombies in the immediate area. They had traversed the mound together, and climbed a concrete ledge.

Panting from fear and exertion, Regulus finally turned to look at his companion. The man was well-muscled and filthy, covered in sweat, dirt, and human remains. His greasy hair hung into his eyes and obscured his face. "Regulus Black," Regulus said, offering his hand.

The other man lowered his gaze to the extended appendage and then returned to scrutinizing Regulus's face. He squinted, hesitating, before he reached out and shook Regulus's hand. "Daryl Dixon."


	70. 072 Lord Voldemort

**Death Eater Express** , Day 24, Prompt:

Lord Voldemort / Nagini / a blood ritual / "No, I don't want to talk to the dead..."

word count: 228

Lord Voldemort was sitting in the most uncomfortable chair in Riddle House, he was sure of it. He was listening to Nagini read the different books Wormtail had collected trying to find the proper blood ritual that would give him a true body. Using what little power he had as a wraith to overtake Bertha's newborn had malformed the body and child and now both were useless. What resulted was a long-limbed abomination of a deformed child that even that filthy rodent Wormtail had trouble looking at.

Lord Voldemort was cold as he sat propped up in this god-forsaken armchair but he had no intention of calling for Wormtail to bring him a blanket. He'd rather suffer in silence.

"Ooo... I've got an interesting one here," Nagini trilled in Parseltongue. "It lets you speak with the dead. Doesn't that sound intriguing?"

"Not really, no," Lord Voldemort hissed back.

"Are you sure? There's bound to be plenty of people you've killed with all those cracks in your soul. Don't you want to talk to any of them?"

"No," he said, exasperated at the ridiculous snake, "I don't want to talk to the dead... Especially not the ones I've killed. I killed them because they prattled on about unnecessary rituals too much!" he snapped.

"Spoilsport," she hissed, letting her tongue slip between her teeth and flicking it in his direction.


	71. 073 Pre-Relationship

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 25, Prompt: pre-relationship

Pairing: Salazar/Rowena

word count: 339

"Have you had time to analyse the ingredients error in the practice recipes yet?" Rowena Ravenclaw asked as walked into the Potions Laboratory where Salazar Slytherin had three potions brewing side-by-side.

He looked up at her entrance and offered her a small smile before answering her question. "I have. I'm running the trials now." She stepped closer and glanced inside the first of the three cauldrons.

"Seems the poison in the moonseed is too strong for the base," she said. She tilted her head as she studied the colour of the other two potions. "Perhaps if we cut it with lovage?"

"Only if we want a side effect of confusion and quickly moving bowels," he said, snorting.

She smirked and picked up the stirring rod, giving the middle cauldron a single anticlockwise spiralling stir. "But with the powdered starthistle..."

"Oh, yes, I can see how that would avoid the worst of the symptoms." He let his eyes linger on her fingers as she set the stirring rod back down on the tabletop and then moved his gaze up her arm to spy quickly at her bosom. She took a quick intake of breath and her bosom heaved and his gaze darted up to her eyes.

"Do you expect the brewing trial to last much longer, Salazar?" she asked. She wet her lips with a swipe of her tongue and Salazar's attention was drawn to her mouth. He knew she'd spoken, he'd fallen in love with the way she said his name, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what she'd said.

"Hmm?" he asked.

She smirked and gave him a half-lidded look. "Are you coming?" she asked.

He blinked at her, unsure what she was asking.

"Are the trials necessary any longer?" she repeated, "Dinner is soon, Sal, are you coming?"

He swallowed and nodded, ready to follow her anywhere if she said his name in that tone again. He wandlessly waved his hands at the cauldrons, extinguishing the flames underneath. He'd clean up the mess later.


	72. 074 Witches

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 25, Prompt: witches

word count: 314

"So, are we going down to Hogsmeade together?" Alicia asked Katie and Angelina.

"I don't know," Katie replied, sending a playful look towards Angelina, "Angelina might have a date with one of her boyfriends!"

Alicia and Katie both giggled as they watched the other girl.

"Boyfriends? You think I have multiple boyfriends?"

Alicia moved around them to lean against the doorframe, "Who's it going to be this time? Lee?"

"George?" Katie filled in.

"Or Fred?" Alicia finished.

Angelina rolled her eyes and grabbed her cloak from the hook behind Alicia's shoulder, next to the door, "You two are crazy. I'm not dating any of those boys."

"Is there someone else?"

"Not Towler, right?" Katie asked, the teasing tone slipping from her voice.

"Of course not, Towler," Angelina confirmed.

Katie brought her hand to her lips in thought before she said, "Not Diggory, he's with Cho Chang."

Angelina donned her cloak and then reached back and pulled two others from the hooks. She one each to Katie and Alicia. "I'm not dating anyone. What I am doing is going to Hogsmeade with you two, so you don't get in trouble."

"I wouldn't mind a bit of boy trouble," Alicia added, clasping her cloak.

"No you don't," Angelina said as she pulled open the dormitory door to find a bouquet of flowers floating in the way, "believe me. Don't touch those, by the way, if they're from Fred they'll spray you in the face with water and ink." She ducked around the floating bouquet and head down the stairs. Katie and Alicia shared a glance with each other before also avoiding the floating flowers and following their friend.

Once they'd left the room, George, Fred, and Lee climbed out from behind various pieces of furniture. Fred was frowning and pouting and George almost said something but didn't. It was Lee that shrugged and sighed, "Witches, huh?"


	73. 075 Bellatrix, Rabastan

**Death Eater Express** , Day 25, Prompt:

Bellatrix Lestrange / Rabastan Lestrange / "Please... I'm the wickedest witch you've ever met." / "You're like a cat, the way you play with your food."

word count: 1,010

Eight-year-old Bast was sitting in a tree watching his sister and his brother's betrothed as they waded out into the slow-moving stream behind the manor. The plan had originally been between Reggie and Bast to go fishing in the stream but then Addy had heard their plan and decided to invite herself, then Bella had heard about the impromptu gathering and decided that they didn't need to go fishing they should go swimming, except they didn't have swimming clothes nor was the stream big enough for that. Reggie had asked his Dad if they could go swimming and he had said no and taken both Reggie and Siri home. Now Bast was left pouting watching Addy and Bella play in the stream. Cissy and Addy, Bella's younger sisters, had not wanted to come out and play, not that either of them would play with Bast even if he had asked. They were content to do something girly and stupid inside, needle-something or other. Bast didn't care.

Dusk was starting to settle and the fairies were starting to come out and light up around the yard and near the stream. Bella pulled her wand and caught one casting little zaps at it to make it scream.

"Bella, no," Addy said, her voice carrying across the empty lawn and up the tree Bast was sitting in. "That's mean!"

"Who cares? They're just fairies. Where's your wand? You can try it, it's fun."

"I can't! Papa says no wandwork without supervision until I'm of age," Addy answered.

Bella levelled an evil grin at Bast's sister and aimed her wand at her. "Do you always do what you're told?"

"I try to. Papa says he'll make me go to St Mungo's even if I accidentally give myself antlers or something else atrocious! I wouldn't live down the shame of it. If I listen and only do wand work with him around, he'll be able to fix anything I accidentally do."

Bella sent a little zap at Addy and Addy squealed and ran from the stream to stand on the bank. "That was uncalled for, Bella!"

"Maybe you should learn to defend yourself? Draw your wand!" She sent another little zap at Addy.

"I don't-ow!-Stop! I'll tell Papa!"

Bast was six years younger than his sister but he didn't like seeing her threatened like that and he quickly climbed down the tree. Bella was zapping Addy again when he joined her on the bank. "Leave my sister alone," he said calmly even as he gave Bella his best glare.

Bella's eyes focused on him in the dimming light and when she spoke to him it was in exaggerated baby talk. "Oh-ho, what's wittle baby Bastion going to do? Are you going to throw rocks at me?"

Instead of deigning her ridiculous words with a reply, Bast turned to his sister. "Go back inside, Addy." She furrowed her brow and looked worriedly between the two of them and then dashed off towards the house.

"I wasn't done playing with her," Bella said, pouting. "I guess that means I get to play with you, then?" she aimed her wand at him and he felt a sharp zap on his chest. It was the same sensation as walking along carpet in socks and then touching the doorknob. It stung and throbbed for only a second and made him jump but the pain didn't last. He was thankful for that. He bit his lips, grunted, and flinched when she did it over and over again. She did it everywhere. He felt that zapping sting on his chest, his neck, his arms, his hands, his feet, his legs. It was when she got him in quick succession across the face and then on his genitals that he bent over, dropped to his knees, and shouted.

"I knew I'd get you to fall eventually," she muttered.

The snap of a twig nearby had Bast glancing up from where he had been trying to hold back the tears caused by her torture. His hands had automatically moved to cover his privates to try and protect himself from further pain. He saw Roddy stepping out from behind a tree and closing the distance between them.

"Bella, you're like a cat, the way you play with your food," Roddy said, his voice was deep and seemed to hold praise and fondness for the witch.

"Please, I'm the wickedest witch you've ever met."

Roddy's chuckle was dark and sinful sounding. "Indeed," he said, his gaze seeming to smoulder in Bella's direction. He turned to look at Bast. "Get up, brother, and stop holding yourself. Bested by a girl, hmph. Why did you just stand there and take it?"

Bast climbed shakily to his feet and glared up at his older brother. He was supposed to be keeping him safe and taking his side, not hers! "What would you have me do? Rush her and attack her like a Muggle and a cad?"

Roddy raised an eyebrow and gave him a half-shrug. "I don't know, manifest something like magical talent and defend yourself like the Lestrange you are? Instead, you just grunt like a dog and drop to your knees at the first sign of pain."

Bast could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He was magical, he was, just because he hadn't shown it yet he could feel it in his veins. He was so angry at Roddy for taking her side over his and he couldn't find the words to shout at him. He knew shouting wouldn't do any good anyway. He clenched his fists and pushed at that feeling in his veins, pushed at Roddy with his magic and suddenly his brother was flying off his feet as if he'd been shoved by a mountain troll and colliding with Bella, both landing arse-first in the stream at Bella's feet.

"Bast!" Roddy roared and Bast didn't wait to see what his brother would do. He turned and ran for the house intent to hide from his brother's rage.


	74. 076 Crossover

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 26, Prompt: a crossover

word count: 379

Hermione didn't think wasn't like her siblings. She wasn't into frilly dresses and fine things like Sansa, she didn't particularly care that she wasn't being taught how to fight like Arya. She didn't enjoy climbing like her younger brother Bran, she wasn't focused on learning how to lead like her brother Robb, and little Rickon still just wanted to play all the time and she wasn't like that either. No, Hermione enjoyed books. Reading. Whereas Mother scolded Bran for climbing, Old Nan scolded Arya for playing with swords, Maester Luwin scolded Hermione for reading his books.

"There are things in these not meant for lady's minds," he would say. She always wondered about what it wasn't women weren't supposed to read. Was it the sciences? Medicine and healing, astronomy and astrology, poisons? Hermione read it all. She consumed every book she could get her hands on with equal voracity.

Mother would purse her lips when Maester Luwin would catch her, leading her back to the other girls to continue embroidering. Father would hid a smile when Maester Luwin would complain that Hermione had been in his books again. If Hermione could be a Maester, she would, but because she was a girl she would not be allowed. Thus, she felt a kindred with Arya, because of her sex. She also felt a kindred with Jon. She didn't dislike him as Sansa did, as Mother did, but she wasn't close with him like Arya. On rainy days, she and Jon would spend the day in quiet companionship reading.

When it was decided that she, Sansa, and Arya would travel to King's Landing with Father, Hermione was torn. She didn't like the idea of the south. She wasn't fascinated by Prince Joffery or the workings of the court like Sansa. Truth be told she was thankful that the prince was more interested in her fairer sister. What she'd gleaned of his personality when they'd interacted had made her skin crawl and her stomach churn. She did not like him; she did not trust him. What ultimately allowed her to feel comfortable with Father's choice to bring her along was that he promised her books.

So she would go with them to King's Landing where she would hide away and read books.


	75. 077 Cadaver

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 26, Prompt: cadaver

Warning: Implied necrophilia. Maybe a bit more than implied.

word count: 309

Tom looked at the body of Hepzibah Smith with disgust. He knew this part was necessary to create his Horcruxes, he just didn't particularly like it. There were two ways to make a Horcrux and he wasn't going to cannibalise part of the body because that would leave evidence. The evidence left behind by molesting the cadaver was easier to clean up. Nothing was removed.

He frowned and closed his eyes. It wasn't that she was overweight, though that didn't particularly help. He knew the problem was his own. He wasn't like his Knights. Not Randolph, with his relationship with Calanthe, not Frederick and his need to mount everything. Even when he had propositioned Calanthe it wasn't out of desire, no that had been about learning something in a way that protected him. The few times he'd coerced Priscilla into it, he'd had to drink a potion first.

The only time that he'd risen to the occasion without a potion had been the first time he made a Horcrux. The overwhelming power he'd felt as he had cast the Killing Curse at Warren, that blubbering Ravenclaw. He'd been high on the power of controlling life and death and he'd felt the swell and pleasure his body was meant to have. He'd had no trouble finishing the process of making a Horcrux then, sinking himself into her body like she was made for him.

He opened his eyes and let his gaze return to Hepzibah. She had responded well to his advances, seemed interested that a young, devilishly handsome young man such as himself had come calling so often. He sighed as he felt the potion working. He removed only the clothes of hers that were blocking what he needed and cast a spell to ease his way.

He needed to work quickly before the body cooled too much.


	76. 078 Lucius, Draco

**Death Eater Express** , Day 26, Prompt:

Draco Malfoy / Lucius Maloy / a lightning strike / a human sacrifice

word count: 569

Muggle AU

It was something he had to do. He had to get his son. Bundle him up. It was a compulsion. He had to get Draco, his son. He stood and walked slowly, determinedly out of his room and down the hall. He didn't want to do it. He didn't. There was nothing he wanted less in this world, but he had to. He didn't remember why. He couldn't. It was a compulsion to do it. Every step that brought Lucius closer to his son's bedroom, his crib, was a step he did not want to take. He couldn't think about what would come after. Every step seemed to take forever and the hall lengthened and grew so with every step he was barely closer to his goal. He had to get his son. Bundle him up and take him somewhere. The compulsion would tell him. Bundle him up tightly, swaddle him, Lucius had just spent the day learning the proper technique to swaddling. It was so important that he get it right.

He didn't want to get this right. He didn't want to swaddle Draco properly because then he wouldn't have to take him. He did not want to take him there, there where he would be required to snuff his life like a candle flame. He did not want to do it. The hall was suddenly too short and Lucius was there in his son's nursery. Had to swaddle the boy to take him, to put his hand—or the blanket, or the pillow, or the toy—over his face. He didn't want to commit to this; Lucius did not want to perform this human sacrifice! That was his son!

Stop! He screamed inside his own head and yet every step was loud and thunderous and every heartbeat shook him to his core. He couldn't do this but he had to. It was a compulsion.

There was an ear-splitting crack in his room and Lucius Malfoy sat bolt upright in his bed, eyes wide and terrified at the noise and the nightmare. He could smell burnt electronics and from beside him in the bed his wife, Narcissa, had sat up as well, clutching the blanket to her chest as she panted.

"What was that?" she asked him.

A deafening roar of thunder boomed over her words in answer.

"I think there was a lightning strike close. From the smell, I bet it burnt out the telly."

As the thunder quieted they could just make out a baby's cry and before Narcissa could move, Lucius was standing up and reaching for his dressing gown. "I'll tend to him. You get back to sleep." She nodded and smiled at him, thankful for his contributions to caring for their young son.

Lucius walked down the hall and into Draco's nursery. The baby monitor was crackling and Lucius reached out and turned it off; it had apparently been zapped in the power strike. He tucked his hand under Draco's head and cradled his beloved son to his chest, cherishing even his cries, and soothing the baby and himself with each other's closeness.

"I love you, Draco. Daddy loves you," Lucius cooed as his baby, rocking him and whispering quietly to him. As his heart rate slowed and he calmed from the abrupt awakening and the horrific nightmare, he vowed not to watch whatever that crime show he'd watched on the telly before bed again.


	77. 079 Substance Use

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 27, Prompt: substance use – alcohol, drugs, etc

word count: 1,045

Harry pulled his head up from the pensieve, feeling the head rush of emotions rise up in his chest. It wasn't as strong as it used to be and the need to slip back into the basin to feel the rush it provided would hit sooner.

He used his wand and stirred up the memories in the pensieve, gathering them and placing them in the vial nearby. The cork that he used to stopper the vial was so worn part of it crumbled into the vial and the memories swirled around the disturbance as it felt through them, sinking to the bottom and sitting still, the small bit of falling inertia spent.

Harry slumped in his chair and glanced around him. To his left was the empty crisps bag and an empty fizzy drink can. There were more vials, more memories in disarray in a small basket to his right. The writing one some were so old that it was faded and no one else would be able to decipher the scrawl there, but Harry had seen each memory so often, he knew just with a glance which vial held which memory. He had no need of reading the markings left on the vials.

The rush had faded and he was left feeling empty and apathetic. In the back of his mind, thoughts swirled but nothing came to the forefront as he relaxed. He spent a half hour with no thoughts in his head, floating on the bliss of nothing that came after the head rush of pensieve use.

Ginny. The thoughts slammed back into him full force and he bent in half where he sat, clutching his hands against his stomach at the pain they caused. Ginny and the kids were gone. Gone to the Burrow. Gone from his life.

His own fault. Everything was his fault. The war. All the deaths. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Snape, Remus, Tonks, Colin. As each name flashed in his mind his mind spun with all the myriad of ways that he could have prevented each death.

He could have not taught the younger children in Dumbledore's army. He could have told Remus and Tonks to hide, to run away. He could have interrupted Snape and Voldemort in the Shrieking Shack. He could have stopped Snape, sacrificed himself to protect Dumbledore. He could have killed Bellatrix, could have used curses, could have made himself more of a target. He could have not been born.

He winced. He should have died. He did die. And it was over now. He couldn't. He'd tried. He'd cast the Killing Curse at himself. It hadn't worked. Used Snape's slicing hex on his wrists, but Hermione had found him and taken care of him.

He pushed the pensieve away. He could stop. He could. He just had to try.

He got up from his chair. He took the crisps package and the can to the rubbish bin. He walked out of the room. He used the loo and after a glance in the mirror decided to shower. He showered, using the hottest water he could stand to try and stop his thoughts from returning again and again to his shortcomings. He used his wand to shave the shaggy scruff from his face. He looked in the foggy mirror when he was done and took a deep breath. He was okay.

There were purple smudges under his bloodshot eyes. When was the last time he'd slept? His stomach growled and he left the loo. In the kitchen, his eyes fell on the words Ginny had painted on the kitchen wall over the table. _Meals & Memories are made here._

Memories. He drew a sharp breath. He wouldn't. His eyes darted to the study where he kept the pensieve. There was an itch up his spine. Something that he couldn't scratch with his hands or anything other than watching another memory. Just a short one...

He bit his lip and dug his jagged nails into his palm. No, he shouldn't. He was doing something. What? What wasn't he needed to do? He looked around the room he was in, trying to think of anything other than the pensieve and the memories. He could see the short little scene he would watch. It played out in front of his open eyes. The last time he'd seen Remus alive, congratulating him on Teddy—Teddy, the name rang in his head, there was something he needed to do for Teddy—yelling at Remus for running, for not being responsible. It stabbed at something in his chest. He wasn't being responsible for his own children, who was he to say anything to Remus? If only he could go back if only he could change it. Run Remus, take your family and run. You're too important to die for me.

Harry shook his head, dispelling the scene from his vision. He could see the swirl of the memories in the pensieve at the motion, could see the moving shapes and shadows in the corner of his eyes. He tried to ignore the movement in his vision and swallowed. He knew it was a symptom of his addiction. Knew he needed another hit.

He looked around the kitchen anyway, opening the cupboards and the fridge but nothing looked appetising. All he craved, all he wanted was to fall back into the pensieve. He found another crisps packet. The crisps in it were stale and much too salty for his taste but he didn't care. He grabbed another fizzy drink and returned to his chair. He poked through the vials of memories, deciding on a longer one and tipped the vial into the pensieve, feeling the anticipation curl in his gut just as the strand of memory whirled in the basin.

He could stop. He knew he could. One day. Just... not yet. He was sure there was still more to learn from the memories.

He would, he promised himself. He took a deep breath, savouring the wait, the surge of adrenaline, the tingling up his spine as he watched the memories spin and swirl in front of him. He'd stop tomorrow, he promised, and then he dipped his face in the basin and was lost again to the world around him.


	78. 081 Fenrir, Amycus

**Death Eater Express** , Day 27, Prompt:

Fenrir Greyback / Amycus Carrow / carving pumpkins / "What do you mean it's supposed to look like a person, not a wolf?"

word count: 1,355

Muggle University AU

Amycus Carrow loved his sister; he really did. What he did not like was that she enjoyed dragging him to those 'better yourself through art' classes where everyone painted the exact same picture and you compared your shitty art with your neighbour's. About the only good thing about them was they usually offered a complimentary glass (or two) of wine. The two home-printed tickets to the newest class she had signed them up for promised the same old droll.

Except without her. She had walked down two floors of their dorm building and passed on the tickets and begged off, unhappy that she had a migraine and just needed to lay down and rest for a while. He understood. She was his twin after all and he'd seen the hundreds of times that she would get a migraine as they were coming up through school. If she didn't take her medicine and lay down she would only make it worse and then she'd spend hours hugging the toilet losing everything she might have put into her stomach in the previous twelve hours. He hated her migraines for her.

He hated those migraines for himself, now too. She'd paid the last of this month's allowance on these tickets and he couldn't just not go but he needed someone to go with. He supposed he could invite one of his mates but he didn't want his buddies in business finance to know he went to these sorts of things.

Just then the door opened and in walked his dormmate, Fenrir Greyback. Fenrir was a monster of a man. Tall, overly swole muscles, long black hair and matching goatee. Amycus didn't speak with him much, not sure they'd have anything to talk about. He was sure muscle-for-brains wouldn't have anything of interest to say to a short, thin business finance major. Unfortunately, Fenrir might be Amycus's only option.

"Hey, Fenrir," he called.

Fenrir stopped and turned around, eyebrows raised in inquiry.

"My sister got these tickets to one of those wine and art classes but she can't go. I'd hate wasting a ticket. Want to come?"

"Yeah, sure. Just let me take a quick shower."

Before Amycus knew it, Fenrir was squeezing himself into Amycus's tiny car so they could go to the class. He didn't complain about the tight fit and they were both amicably quiet on the ride. The indie rock radio station broadcasted from campus filled in the silence without making things awkward.

When they arrived and headed for the door, Amycus realised that he might not ever be able to show his face at one of these things again. He always came with Alecto before. Now the one time he comes without his sister all the regulars—those gossipy cookie-cutter suburban mums—were going to think he was gay. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that before.

As they walked through the room towards the back where the class gathered, Fenrir's long legs took him a few steps ahead of Amycus. His presence was overwhelming and apparently magnetic because before he even got close to the group the heads of all the women already there turned to stare. Whispers broke out almost immediately and Amycus was sure he saw at least two women fan themselves. Maybe they would all be so busy ogling Fenrir they wouldn't think he was gay.

The instructor greeted them and directed them to the last two seats at the back left of the space designated as the class. At each station was a large orange pumpkin, a small mirror on a table stand, a variety of knives, and a black marker.

"This week's class is going to be a little different," the instructor said, calling the class together, "We're going to be carving our face into a pumpkin. All the pumpkins have already been opened and the seeds scooped out. Unfortunately, because we'll be working with knives we won't be providing wine this evening. We'll begin with the marker and we'll start with our noses." She went on, explaining shapes and techniques and Amycus followed along with his marker.

Beside him, Fenrir had turned his chair a little and had already picked up one of the knives. He started carving into his pumpkin without drawing on it first. Amycus wasn't sure what Fenrir was doing but he wasn't that intrigued by it. Maybe he was cutting rude shapes into the pumpkin instead.

"All right, it's time to start on the carving portion of the evening," the instructor droned on. "Inside your pumpkins is a flameless tealight. You can go ahead and pull the top off your pumpkin and turn the tealight on—there's a switch at the bottom—and then we'll start with the outside of the face. Remember, we don't want to cut all the way through..."

Amycus let the teacher's voice slip to the background of his mind as he slid the thin knife into the line. He did dig a bit too deeply at the eyes and he punched through at the jaw but he was doing better than some of the others. He spotted one woman two rows up that had sliced through the entire way and left a giant cut out circle where her face was supposed to be.

Finally, as the instructor called the class to a close, Amycus saw Fenrir lean back and set down his knife. He nodded to himself at a job well done. He glanced up at Amycus and turned his pumpkin to show off. Looking out from the pumpkin was the most intensely detailed carving of a wolf that Amycus had ever seen. He felt completely incompetent and said, "You know we were supposed to be carving a person's face into the thing, right?"

The instructor had come along behind them to thank them for coming and to ask them to sit for a picture and she was staring at the wolf as well, her jaw slack in awe.

"What do you mean it's supposed to look like a person, not a wolf? My name's Fenrir. I _am_ a wolf, mate."

"It's amazing," the instructor said, she sent a perturbed glare in Amycus's direction as if his judgement was too harsh for Fenrir. "Hey class, come check out Fenrir..." Fenrir raised his eyebrows and gave her a smirk and this forty-year-old woman blushed to the roots of her greying blonde hair. "I mean, check out Fenrir's pumpkin. He, umm," she paused to lick her lips, "he didn't stick to the objective completely but he did an awesome job."

After the picture where the woman seemed to cluster around Fenrir, they carried their pumpkins to the car. Fenrir settled his gently in the backseat and climbed in and Amycus did so as well. On the way back, Fenrir cleared his throat a little. "I want to thank you for inviting me, I had a lot of fun. This was great too, I can submit my pumpkin for my alternative media project that's due at the end of the month."

Amycus's brow furrowed. "Alternate what?"

"It's part of my senior portfolio. Every month I need to submit a new piece. Last month I did a carving in polystyrene and I was finding white bits of fluff in my art supplies for a week."

"Really? I didn't know you were taking any art classes."

Fenrir's laugh was loud and booming inside the car and Amycus was proud of himself for not swerving at the intensity of it. "You didn't know I was an art major?" he asked. "What did you think I was taking?"

"I don't know," Amycus said, as he pulled into the car park near their dorm. "Sports something or other."

Fenrir laughed again. "Nah, mate, I'm an art major. Your sister and I share classes. The weightlifting is just a hobby."

Amycus felt confused. "You know my sister?" Fenrir just smiled and nodded, taking his pumpkin up the stairs. Amycus pursed his lips as he stood by his car watching his dormmate head inside. He had some questions that he would be asking his sister later when she felt better.


	79. 082 Real Life Job

**NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 28, Prompt: a character doing your real life job

word count: 849

Millicent tried to brush some of the cat hair off of her dark green dress but when none of it budged she gave up.

"Are you ready to go?" Princeton asked. He was standing by the Floo with a few envelopes in his hand, waiting.

Millicent took a deep breath. It was fine, she could visit with her in-laws. _Just be calm, it won't be so bad._ They travelled by Floo to Princeton's grandparents' house and Millicent's shoe caught in the grate as she was being welcomed into the home. "Oh, it's good to see you, good to see you," Gran Parkinson said, daintily wrapping an arm around Millicent in a hug and then pressing her recently coloured lips against Millicent's cheek. Millie smiled and stumbled before she stepped away from Gran to wipe at the lipstick smudge. Hopefully, it didn't stay too long on her cheek to start itching. _It sucks being allergic to one of the ingredients that's in almost everything beauty product out there._

Millie walked on through the kitchen to greet Grandpa Parkinson and his relation Hugh. The kinship between Grandpa and Hugh was convoluted, something like sister's cousin's son or something. Millie could never remember. She leaned over and gave both a hug and greeting and then found a corner where she could hopefully disappear into the wallpaper.

From the corner where Millie had settled herself, she could hear Elizabeth and Pippa, Princeton's mum and sister, greet Gran. Princeton had disappeared to talk with his cousins and wouldn't appreciate his wife hanging around while they talked about manly things that she wasn't interested in.

"Oh, Millie, there you are!" Pippa said, coming into the room. "What are you doing in here? And what are you wearing? Don't you have, oh, nevermind, anyway, you won't mind if I leave this here, would you?" she asked, dropping her overly large designer handbag on the other seat next to Millie.

"Hey Pippa," she greeted, but the other girl had already turned and left the room. Millie relaxed her shoulders a bit. Pippa was always the most well dressed of the bunch, even better than Pansy when she happened to grace them with her presence. Hopefully, that simple question would be all that Pippa said about Millie's dress. _I know it looks like a burlap sack. There's not much in my size and even with magic, there's no such thing as a miracle cure to being overweight._ Millie stamped down her thoughts and tried not to listen to the conversations that filled up the house around her.

From the kitchen, Elizabeth and Gran were talking loudly as Gran put the last touches on the meal and directed the house-elf to set the table. "You know she doesn't work," Elizabeth was saying, sounding exasperated, "I tried to help them when I can, but you know the prices of things these days. I don't know how he manages. Half the time I think they just go without and you know how upset that makes me. He's my son!"

Millie pushed the words away. She knew they were discussing her. Despite Princeton's weak denials that they were doing fine financially, Millie's lack of employment was always brought up. Maybe not directly with her but she was made aware of how the others felt about it.

"What are you doing in here all by yourself, Millicent?" Uncle Anders said from the doorway. "You still writing?

"Yes, I'm still writing."

"That naughty stuff, right? I'd read it. It's probably pretty good, right?"

"The last story I finished is about 505 pages long, but I haven't—"

"500 pages! Whoa, gee, what did you write a novel?"

Hugh was passing through the hall and stopped to listen. "Oh, you're writing a novel, hmm? What's it about?"

"It's that naughty sort of thing, you know," Anders answered with a nudge and wink.

Hugh let out a gruff little laugh. "Well, why haven't you sold any books yet? You know, back in my day, we didn't bother doing anything unless we could make a little money out of it. No money, then it's not worth doing. You going to be making money with this writing stuff, hmm?"

Millie tried not to wince as she answered, "Well, no, it's complicated. I can't actually sell this because it's—"

"Well, then what are you doing with it? Might as well get on getting with something else if you can't make money doing it. Isn't that right, Anders?" Hugh turned and walked on to his destination.

Anders gave her a grin. "Don't worry about him, you know how he makes up things. Earlier he was telling Gramps about how he met the French Minister back in the '70s and went skinny dipping with her or something only nobody knew that's who it was at the time." He paused like he expected some sort of answer but before Millie could come up with something else to say, Gran called from the kitchen.

"Anders? You ready for dinner? Come in here, tell everyone it's time to eat!"

Millie sighed. _Only a few more hours of this._

* * *

 **AN:** So, it's a bit difficult to portray a housewife-fanfic writer so I plonked Millicent into a day in my life (I think it was supposed to be Christmas, but I didn't elaborate on the envelopes in Princeton's hands, gift cards). I made liberal use of OCs for this and the person Pippa represents isn't nearly so foul. Sorry if I made them sound too American South than British.


	80. 083 Carving

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 28, Prompt: carving

word count: 286

Rodolphus nodded along to the song playing on the stereo as he decided which knife he wanted to use. Carving was a delicate process and he didn't want to disappoint his girl by making a mess of things.

He could hear Bellatrix singing, "Let's pop him in a boiling pot and when he's done we'll butter him up!"

The giggling that followed mixed with the heavy sound of the song and Rodolphus selected the knife he wanted and turned to the tableau at the kitchen table. Bellatrix stood to the side wearing an apron that said, "Let's Eat Grandma!" on it, the table was covered in newspaper and the sacrifice sat on top in the centre.

Rodolphus paused and pointed at the table with the knife, "Where is she?"

"I'm right here, Daddy," a little girl answered rushing back into the room with a sheet of paper. "I've got the thing I wanted carved on it." She held up an image of a ridiculously detailed carving on a much bigger specimen. "Do you think you can do it, Daddy?"

He nodded. "I think I can do a reasonable facsimile."

"What's a fax-Emily?"

Bellatrix smiled at her daughter's pronunciation of the new word. "It means copy, Beatrice, Daddy thinks his copy might be comparable." She winked at Rodolphus and he came forward.

Rodolphus's favourite part of the song was up and he growled along with the lines. "And we take our job with pride. We do our best to please him and to stay on his good side." Then he looked down at his daughter. "You ready to get started, pumpkin?"

"I'm not a pumpkin!" the six-year-old corrected him, giggling. She pointed towards the table, "That's a pumpkin!"


	81. 084 Alecto

**Death Eater Express** , Day 28, Prompt:

Alecto Carrow / pumpkin festival / a broken mirror / "Slugs and snails and puppy-dog tails."

Word count: 497

Alecto Carrow did not know what she was doing at this ridiculous Muggle pumpkin festival. Who the fuck celebrates pumpkins? She sighed as she walked through the crowd of Muggles, her upper lip raised in a half-snarl of disgust when one or two touched the hem of her skirt. She even _looked_ ridiculous. A fluffy top advertised as a 'peasant top' that showed off too much of her shoulders and décolletage, a wide skirt that might have tripped her up if she hadn't been using her non-wand hand to hold it up in front of her. She could have killed Antonin when he brought it back from the Muggle shops.

"What is this?" she had asked him, outraged.

"It's a costume, you know, for the festival," he had answered, not even bothering to hide his grin. _His_ costume had looked more like normal Wizarding robes with trousers added.

He was around here somewhere as well, mingling with Muggles. They were supposed to be looking for someone, some prophecy-spouting squib or something. Alecto had been too brassed about the entire assignment to listen properly.

She passed by a stall with shawls and fabric hanging in swathes from the ceiling and the sides as if to try to hide the fact that the stall was slipshod and crooked. The stalls were about the only thing tilted or leaning around here. All the straight lines and perfect circles of Muggle construction and design made her nervous. It was too neat. Magic was organic, it was of the earth, and that meant no perfect anything. Muggle creations were fake and they felt so wrong.

As Alecto passed the shawl-covered stall she heard the unmistakable sound of glass cracking and a woman's gasp. She turned and saw Antonin nearby, also looking around, searching for the sound. They both came together in front of the stall; Alecto's mind focusing sharply on her assignment now rather than on her distaste for the Muggles.

"What do you think?" Antonin whispered, gesturing at the stall with a minute tilt of his head. "Foe-glass?"

She glanced towards the woman sitting in the stall who was looking down at something. Alecto shook her head. "Broken mirror."

Antonin frowned and turned to the woman in the stall. "What are you selling, woman?" he asked her. She was old and gnarled, and the shawls that decorated the stall decorated her two, she was wearing at least four.

"Slugs and snails and puppy-dog tails, young man. I'm selling home-made lotions and soaps. Would you care for a sample?"

His frown intensified and he shook his head, turning back to Alecto. "Come on, she's not the one." He stalked off, obviously just as unhappy with the assignment as her. Alecto glanced at the woman once more and she was watching them just as closely. Something about the woman gave her the creeps. Alecto followed after her partner, sure they would eventually find the squib the Dark Lord had tasked them to find.


	82. 085 Violence

**NaNo's Misfits** , Day 29, Prompt: graphic depictions of violence

Warning for gore.

word count: 450

Conor Mulciber liked blood. The colour, the viscosity, the richness of it. He liked the feel of it when it coated his hands and the smell as more and more of it was exposed to air. That iron and copper metallic taste lingered on his tongue and in his sinuses long after he was no longer in the vicinity of it.

Conor also loved screams. Men's screams were all right but a woman's screams, well, those were music to his ears. Screaming thrilled his heart and excited his body like nothing else. When the Dark Lord allowed him to combine both blood and screaming... Conor was in a constant state of arousal and orgasmic paradise.

And yet, as he lay hidden in the basement larder of his house clutching at his stomach as his own blood seeped between his fingers, listening to the enraged screaming of an Order bitch with a grudge, his body wasn't reacting like he expected it too. He had always thought he would die with his erection in hand and a smile on his face if he thought about dying at all.

If he'd known how horribly terrifying and painful his favourite curse was he might not have used it quite so often. He shifted and felt more of his intestines slip past his fingers. He didn't know why the Order bitch was still screaming, she'd reflected his Entrail-Expelling Curse back at him before he'd barred the door. Now all that was left for him to do was bleed out. It was taking longer than he thought but he was distinctly aware of time and life slipping from his grasp.

He tried to breathe deeply but coughed instead and felt more of his intestines bulge around his fingers. He tilted his head to look at the large slice in his gut, suddenly fascinated with them. The ropey strands were slightly blue and slick and he moved his hand to stop trying to hold them in to picking up one and then another. They were slippery and he dropped them a few times in his investigation of them. He squeezed one between his fingers to see if there was any sensation or pain.

His thoughts grew fuzzy as a loud bang rang out. He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts but they didn't clear. His vision was spotty and he blinked to get rid of the spots but it only grew worse. There was movement at the door and he looked up to see the Order bitch—Longbottom, wasn't it?—with her wand aimed at him. She was equal parts angry and scared and he felt a flicker of lust spark through his cock. He smiled.


	83. 087 Thorfinn, Rabastan

**Death Eater Express** , Day 29, Prompt:

Thorfinn Rowle / Rabastan Lestrange / "Want to make a little magic?" / "No one said being a Death Eater was fun, idiot."

word count: 436

Bast Lestrange rubbed at the knot forming at the base of his neck from tension. He was on a mission for the Dark Lord with Thorfinn Rowle. They'd travelled through so many countries lately, he wasn't even sure which one they were in now. They were searching for someone, a girl, he thought. He sighed tiredly. He opened his eyes and realised that Thorfinn had wandered off again. Merlin, that man was ridiculously easy to distract.

Bast glanced down each of the different paths and decided on one, hoping it was the direction Thorfinn had gone. He walked on, noticing the surroundings seemed to darken and grow dirtier. Had they wandered into a seedier district of this town?

He found Thorfinn at the end of the street standing in front of the building at the end. Most of the Muggle women lounging at the windows and on the balcony he could see were scantily clad and making eyes at him and Thorfinn. He could hear chatter in their native tongue. It wasn't one of the languages he knew.

One girl, braver than her co-workers, stepped out onto the street and walked up to Thorfinn. She was vastly shorter than he was but she didn't seem to mind the extreme height differences. She reached up and ran her fingers down his chest to linger at the fastener of his trousers. In heavily accented English she said, "Want to make a little magic?"

Thorfinn gave her a lascivious grin and reached down to grip her hair like he was about to kiss her. Bast stopped him. "Thorfinn!"

Thorfinn turned to look at him, seemingly startled but kept his meaty paw in her hair. She made a little grimace and grunted when he jostled her. "What?"

"Leave the girl. We're not even in the right part of town anymore. How do you always find establishments like this? It's like your cock has a homing device for pussy."

"You should partake, you know, it's fun. 'Specially with the foreign girls; you can't really use language to communicate."

"Let's go," he told the brute. Thorfinn pouted and turned to the girl, kissing her sloppily on the mouth before turning her around, pushing her gently towards the cat house, and patting her on the arse. She went inside without another word.

"Why don't you ever let loose and have fun? Be a fucking Death Eater for once!" Thorfinn complained as they walked back the way they had come.

"No one ever said being a Death Eater was fun, idiot," Bast snapped at him.

Under his breath, Thorfinn retorted, "They didn't put being a celibate cock-blocker in my brochure, either."


	84. 088 Role Reversal

**NaNo's Misfits** , Day 30, Prompt: role reversal

word count: 197

Fenrir chanced a glance over his shoulder as he ran through the woods. Twigs and branches worked as switches across his face and chest, leaving sharp red welts across his skin like he'd been caned. His breath came in heavy pants as he dragged in the oxygen his body needed to flee from the girl.

Lavender bent low to the earth and breathed deeply over the churned up leaves. He'd been here. Not much more than an hour ago. She was gaining on him. She would catch him soon. She sped off, feeling the soil and soggy leaves beneath her bare feet and enjoying the feel of the hunt. Her eyes darted back and forth, following the clear path he'd made. He wasn't even trying to cover his tracks now. All he was doing now was running from the ultimate predator. A female werewolf, deadset on murder in the moonlight.

She would catch him and when she did she would make him pay. Lavender snarled as she ran, intent on running down her prey. Soon the moon would be up and she would taste his blood on her tongue and tear into his flesh with her teeth.


	85. 090 Antonin II

**Death Eater Express** , Day 30, Prompt:

Antonin Dolohov / a cursed house / a cracked teapot / "They say the veil between planes is thinnest tonight."

word count: 837

Antonin Dolohov sat heavily in the kitchen chair as he waited for the kettle to boil. It was Hallowe'en night and he was alone in the small house he'd inherited decades ago. It held rather a lot of memories for him, including the ones of his last obsession.

She was a beautiful girl. Wild hair, fierce eyes, determination and stubbornness for days. He'd enjoyed his time with her, too much if he was honest with himself. When she'd died... well, it had been a long time since he'd felt so much as a flicker of lust in his cock. He missed his little spitfire Gryffindor.

When the kettle whistled, Antonin stood and moved to the antique tea set that had belonged to his great-grandmother. He scooped the tea into the pot and poured the water over it, letting it steep in the beautiful old teapot. He sat back down and waited, ready for his favourite late night blend.

Her image came before his eyes again. He'd always thought of her as his obsession—that's the way it had started—but by the end, perhaps it had been love. He wasn't sure, he'd never been in love before, but he'd almost cried when she died. That meant he'd loved her, right?

The fragrance of the tea wafted towards him and he opened his eyes, confused. It had smelled like someone had opened the lid of the teapot. It was closed when he looked at it, though. He stood and poured his tea.

A voice spoke from the ether startling him. He almost dropped the teapot. "They say the veil between planes is thinnest tonight."

He looked up and saw the ghost of his obsession, his beloved. "Hermione?" he asked. She nodded but glanced down at his hands. He looked down and realised he had almost overpoured the tea. He set the teapot on the tray and sat down, holding the teacup between his hands. "I can't believe you're... have you always been a ghost? I mean, since your..."

"Yes," she answered him. Her words might have been clipped but he couldn't tell. He was more focused on the image of her. His memories didn't do her justice. Even a ghost, transparent and shimmery, she was more beautiful than he remembered.

"How come I've never seen you?" he asked, taking a sip of his tea. He let the flavour roll on his tongue and he was disappointed when there was an odd metallic aftertaste. That's what he got for purchasing it from a Muggle shop; it wasn't the same as the kind he got from Diagon Alley. He frowned.

"You didn't know your house was cursed? There are protective enchantments that banish ghosts... except..."

"On Hallowe'en, where the veil is thinnest," he answered.

"Your teapot is leaking," she said, sounding disinterested. He looked back down at his teapot to find that he must have cracked it when he'd almost dropped it. Tea was seeping out the bottom and pooling on the tray. Hermione reached down and dipped her finger in the shallow pool, swirling it around. The amber liquid moved at her disturbance. "Did you know that on Hallowe'en, with enough concentration and conviction, ghosts can manipulate their surroundings?" she asked. "We can become corporeal for the night."

Antonin felt his heart thump. He reached out and touched her arm, feeling the cool but physical form she'd manifested. He stood and came around her, bracketing her body with his against the table. "Lay with me tonight? Please? I've missed you so, beloved." He pressed his face into her wild curls. She disappeared from where he'd pinned her and he blinked a few times, feeling dizzy. He attributed it to her sudden ghost-like body again. She was across the kitchen from him when he looked up.

"Lay with you? Beloved?" she asked, outrage in her tone. "You think..." she started laughing.

Antonin felt himself sway on his feet and he grabbed the table to steady himself. "Hermione?" he asked.

"I didn't focus this hard to become corporeal so you could rape me again, you loathsome fucker," she said, snarling. He swallowed and the metallic taste lingering on his tongue had grown and overpowered the residual flavour of the tea. "I did this to kill you," she said, her words somehow softer.

Antonin blinked again, feeling confused. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, wild and heavy like he'd just come out of a duel for his life. His head felt suddenly heavy and his vision danced in front of his eyes. Before he could question her further, he collapsed.

Hermione smiled and let her focus relax, hovering a few inches off the floor. She focused again after a moment, picking up the poison she had set on the countertop behind her and putting it on the tray next to the cracked teapot. She felt the call of the beyond tugging at her now that her work was done. It was time to get out of this cursed house and rest.


	86. 091 Gift Fic

**NaNo's Misfits** , Day 31, Prompt: gift fic

Pairing: Frank/Alice

word count: 394

Alice grabbed the little red box she'd set aside on her vanity table and brought it back to the bed. She kissed Frank on the lips lightly, letting him wake up. He blinked up at her with a slow, sleepy smile. "Happy Christmas," he murmured to her.

"Happy Christmas."

He reached up and tangled his fingers in her short-cropped hair to bring her closer to kiss him more thoroughly. She had no objections, letting him sweep her away in a very good morning. When they were sated, she lay with her head on his shoulder.

"How are you, my love?" he asked her, grinning. "We should probably get up. Mother will have a fit if we're not down for breakfast and presents soon."

"I have a present for you, first," Alice said, pulling from his arms to get the little red box.

"Normally we share presents downstairs with Mother. What's different this time?" he asked, sitting up to look at her.

"It's more personal. Here," she said, setting the little red box on the duvet over his lap.

He narrowed his eyes, confused, and picked up the small gift. He slipped the ribbon off the top, holding the lid closed, and opened it. Inside was a pair of white knitted booties, tiny in his hands, and underneath that nestled in the tissue paper was a card that read, _You're going to be a daddy!_

He inhaled sharply and looked at the booties in his hand, blinking away the sudden emotional tears. "Really?" he asked, looking up at her, a smile on his lips.

Alice smiled, feeling her own eyes tear up as she nodded. She was so very excited to share this with him. She knew this might interfere with her career as an Auror and that they were in the middle of a war, but she couldn't help it. She was so in love with him that she couldn't even express how happy having his child was making her. "I love you, Frank."

He put the booties gently back in the box and set the box on the bedside table. He turned to her again, kissing her more urgently. His touches were even more gentle and loving as he caressed her body, reawaking her desire.

"We can't; your Mother—"

"Don't care," he whispered against her skin, "We're celebrating. She can wait."

Alice laughed.


	87. 092 Costumes

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 31, Prompt: costumes

A continuation of prompt 012 Antonin & Hermione and prompt 023 Masks. It didn't start out as the answer to the prompt but I made it work, I think. This might be a fun plot bunny to follow further along later.

word count: 3,273

"What are you doing?" Rabastan asked, feeling a little flabbergasted. He'd agreed to help Dolohov but he had no idea he was helping him kidnap someone. So far, he hadn't triggered the pain from the modified Imperius Curse. He wasn't sure if Dolohov was experiencing it, bastard could always handle pain, even torture, under near silence—just like Snape. Merlin, it had been a long time since he'd thought about that fucker.

"What does it look like?" Dolohov finally answered. The bundled body of a woman twisted and squirmed where he held her over his shoulder. Rabastan could just make out the cream and gold of her gown as she kicked her feet and the hem of her dress fluttered out under the black cloak she was wrapped in.

"Morgana's bloody—" Rabastan paused to grab one of her ankles, stopping her from kicking Dolohov in the kidney, "You kidnapped Granger."

The squirming and muffled shouts grew a tad more frantic and Dolohov reached up with his other hand and smacked her on the rump. "Are you going to help or not?" he asked.

Rabastan didn't know why he said it, perhaps it was the desire that had pooled in his groin when he'd seen her, or the itch in his palms when he wanted to ask her to dance, or the twinge in his chest when he thought of her alone with Dolohov, but he nodded and felt the stabbing pain in his temple. "Yeah, yes, whatever, I want in."

The next thing Rabastan realised was that Dolohov had clamped a hand on his arm, pressing part of the black cloak wrapped around Granger between them. A hook behind his navel alerted him to the Portkey travel partial seconds before they disappeared. It had been so long since he'd travelled like that he stumbled and had to breathe deeply a few times to settle his stomach. He looked around, getting his bearings.

They were in a small cabin with wood panel walls reminiscent of the style of his youth. The living space and kitchen were shared and there seemed to be a loft. Two doors led to separate areas. Rabastan assumed one was a bathroom, the other door, sturdier and thick must lead outside. It was noticeably colder inside the cabin than the mild October they had had in London.

"Light a fire, would you?" Dolohov said, pointing toward the fireplace with a small pile of wood ready and waiting. He heaved the bundle of woman off of his shoulder and eased her onto the small dining table. Rabastan did as he was asked and watched Dolohov unwrap Granger with gentle hands.

Her mask was gone and her hair was free of her plait. Her make-up was smudged and her dress was rumpled but otherwise she looked unharmed. She pulled hair that had got caught in her mouth away with her hand and then levelled a glare at Dolohov. Her gaze flicked around the room and Rabastan knew she saw him but as he was across the space he wasn't the greater threat.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked him, her outrage at being kidnapped plain in her tone and on her face.

"I've heard you were the one who made the pain-modifications to the Imperius they put on parolees. Take it off," Dolohov said.

"And why would I do that? You've obviously found a way to work around it already, why would I remove some of the only protection I have available to me at the moment? You've already taken my wand and my mobile."

Dolohov grunted and cast two quick non-verbal spells, silencing and rebounding her with thin silken ties. She started to speak and stopped when she realised she was silenced.

"Silk, Dolohov? Really?" Rabastan asked as he walked closer to them.

"Silk doesn't hurt," he said gruffly. "The loft gets cold, Granger, and your dress is thin. You won't freeze but you're not going to be comfortable. I'll ask again in an hour or two." Dolohov hoisted her up onto his shoulder again and carried her up the tilted ladder to the loft. Rabastan her her body thump onto the wooden floor. He wondered if there was a bed or if the loft only had a pallet on the floor. Dolohov came back down and headed to a small drinks cart near the sofa. He poured two tumblers of firewhisky and held one out to Rabastan. Once Rabastan had taken the tumbler Dolohov settled at one side of the couch and propped his feet up on the low table in front of the fire. He gestured for Rabastan to sit.

They enjoyed their whisky with the crackling of the fire as the only ambience for a long while before a loud thud echoed down from the loft. Dolohov nodded as the thudding started up, a continued bump-bump-bump. "Took her less time to start that than I anticipated," he said, but he made no move to stand and confront the girl.

"Dolohov," Rabastan said, pausing once as if he thought the thumping would quiet. It didn't, so he continued, "How did you get past the headache for planning this out?"

The dark haired man smiled. "Thinking of kidnapping her caused pain. The original act of snatching her caused pain... but now that she's here? I haven't been thinking of hurting her." His smile turned into a leer.

"You're planning on seducing her?" Rabastan asked, his volume dropping to a whisper.

Dolohov nodded. "You're going to help me."

"I am? It's been a bloody long time since I've been with a woman; I won't be of any help whatsoever."

"I've stocked the cabin. We've got food and supplies for at least a month if not more. It's not like I expect her to be seduced and willing after one night."

The thumping got louder and flatter sounding and Dolohov's eyebrows quirked moments before a heavy, hardback book came soaring out of the loft at their heads. Rabastan's whisky sloshed in its glass as he dodged the book and Dolohov stood to prevent the book from striking him across the face. They both looked up to see Granger glaring down at them from her bound hands and knees. Dolohov tipped his head back and laughed loudly. "Should have expected you to be feisty, shouldn't I?" he asked her. As he set his tumbler down on the cart and headed towards the ladder her eyes widened and she shifted back, hiding in the dark corners of the loft that Rabastan couldn't see.

He was tempted to follow and he almost stood up to do so but changed his mind. He returned to his seat on the couch and he listened. Dolohov had removed the Silencing Charm from her.

"Are you going to cooperate now?" he asked.

"Absolutely not! Why would I cooperate and allow you to do me harm?"

"We're not going to harm you. We can't, remember?"

"You kidnapped me! That's harm! Why aren't you in pain now?"

"It is as you said, kidnapped. It's past. Now that you're here in my cabin and I have no further criminal plans, the pain goes away."

"Damn," she muttered to herself. "I didn't expect it to work that way."

"You don't think like a former Death Eater, no. I wouldn't expect you to," he said. There were footsteps as he moved closer and his voice gentled and lowered in volume and pitch. "Are you cold?"

"N-n-no," she answered. Rabastan didn't think the loft could be cold enough for her to stutter, although he was in formal robes and she was in a thin dress. He suspected the stutter was from nerves at Dolohov's approach.

There was some flickers of spell flashes, white, and then Dolohov said. "Fine. You know how to let us know when you get cold. There will be no more flying books or furniture. Everything is Sticky Charmed down."

"You're just... going to keep me here? What if I need to go to the toilet?" Her words had started out soft and insecure but by the end of her second question her sass and outrage had reappeared.

"There's one downstairs. Let me know and I'll take you to it."

"So you can be a pervert and watch?"

"I have no interest in watching you use the toilet, no," Dolohov answered. He must have silenced her again as there was no reply, only a thump-thump where she must have hit the floor with her fists or heels. Dolohov started back down the ladder. "And don't keep thumping. You'll end up hurting yourself."

He joined Rabastan in the little sitting area and picked up his tumbler, sipping at his firewhisky. He picked up the book that she had sent sailing towards his head and cracked it open, nodding to himself as he started to read.

Rabastan didn't let his host's quiet way bother him. He'd known the other man long enough to understand that sharing his firewhisky was about the extent of his hospitality. Bast didn't mind. He sipped his whisky, letting the crackle of the fire and the warmth of the liquor soothe him into a pleasant doze. He was awakened with a quiet thump-thump from the loft. The fire had grown low in the grate and his feet were starting to feel some of the chill from the outside air as it pressed in on the cabin. Dolohov had set aside his book and seemed to have been staring into the fire thinking but at Granger's stirring he roused himself to head back up the ladder to tend to their kidnappee.

"Are you cold, Granger?"

"I've got to go to the toilet," she muttered.

Dolohov disappeared into the dark loft.

"I can walk!" Granger squawked. Her protests were ignored as Dolohov carried her over his shoulder back down the ladder. He took her to the door that Bast had assumed was the loo and set her on her feet in the door way. "Aren't you going to unbind my hands?" she asked.

"No, you can clean yourself with them in front of you like that," he answered. He pulled the door closed between them and headed back to the loft while he waited.

"Aren't you worried she'll try to escape?" Bast asked up to him.

"No." They waited a minute or so before there was a loud bang in the room she was in. "Go see what she's doing now," Dolohov commanded.

Bast frowned but did so, standing and walking to the door. He opened it to find a tiny little room with no window. Granger was sitting on the floor in front of the sink with a pout on her face rubbing the side of her head. Inside the small room was a shower stall, toilet, and the sink with a single cupboard underneath it. Dolohov was right, there was no way she could escape from here.

"What happened?" he asked.

She glared at him even as he moved into the room and reached down, offering his hand to help her up.

"I was snooping and my skirt caught on the bottom of the cupboard and I felt into the wall," she answered, taking him up on his offer and standing. She was even shorter than he imagined this close to him. "He took my shoes and now I'm tripping on my dress."

"Maybe that's why he's been carrying you everywhere."

She refreshed her glare and narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you here?"

"Here with you in the loo or here with you and Dolohov in this cabin?"

"The latter," she said, she tried to squeeze herself between him and the wall to get around him but the room was tiny and she only pushed herself against him instead. He couldn't seem to help himself when he turned and pressed his body against hers, flattening her against the wall. Her bound hands squished between them above her breasts. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch as she found herself trapped.

He swallowed and rested his forehead against the wall over her shoulder. He breathed in to try to focus but all he could smell was the wooden walls and her sweet perfume. "I don't know why I'm here," he answered before turning his head to nuzzle into her hair. She pushed at him with her hands and her hips, trying to leverage herself with the wall to push him away. It only served to press her soft curves more into him. He could feel his cock stir to life against her stomach and he opened his eyes and stepped back enough not to rub against her. He still bracketed her in with his arms against the wall.

"Please let me go," she whispered, and the fight and sass had left her voice.

"It's not my call," he said just as softly.

"He's going to hurt me." She spoke her words with conviction and a desperation that had his heart thumping for her.

He shook his head. "No, he's not."

"Please," she said, her whisper cracking the word into two syllables as she begged. "Let me go."

He stepped back enough for her to move away from him, out of the toilet. He followed after her, mindful of her skirt trailing behind her. She wasn't as careful and she tripped on it at the threshold of the door and would have fallen had he not rushed forward to grab her. His arms had gone around her torso and he could feel her breasts against his arm.

"You're right about the dress. It's too long without your shoes. What sort of costume was this, anyway? What were you supposed to be?" he said, setting her on her feet.

She blushed a little and ducked her head. From the loft, Dolohov had come into the dim light to look down at them, perhaps interested in the answer.

"Bast, the Egyptian cat goddess and goddess of the sun."

Bast couldn't help himself and laughed loudly. When he got his guffaws under control, he nodded. "She also protects the home from snakes and is the goddess of fertility," he added, letting his gaze drift down her plump curves. "It's perfect."

She blushed again and turned from him. She made use of her bound hands and hiked up her skirt enough so she wouldn't trip as she headed towards the seating area.

"It's bedtime, little one," Dolohov called just as she sat next to the warm embers in the fireplace.

Her eyes darted around the space until they returned to the loft where he was standing looking down at her. "But there's only one bed?" she asked, confused. Her eyes suddenly widened and she shook her head. "No, no! I'll sleep on the floor right here. I'm not..."

"The embers will burn out and you will get cold in that flimsy little dress. We'll keep you warm." Dolohov said. His tipped his head to look at Bast. He got the impression that he would have to be the one to bring her up to the bed.

Her wide eyes sought him out and she seemed to realise that he was just as dangerous to her as Dolohov despite never having cast a spell at her. He walked towards her and she stumbled back, tripping on her dress again and trying to crab-crawl back away from him. Her back was pressed against the wooden wall by the time he reached her.

"Come on, my goddess," he murmured at her reaching down his hands for her again. She did not take them this time and turned to try to crawl away from him. Her dress made it too difficult to go far. He reached down and wrapped his arms around her torso again, picking her up. She was heavy but he didn't mind. She struggled in his grip as he tried to climb the ladder and halfway up, her skirt caught under his foot and the material ripped. He paused, feeling a bit embarrassed and rude for destroying her clothes but it gave her a chance to wiggle more in his arms. "Stop! Stop, Granger. You're going to make me drop you and you'll hit your head. Stop."

She did, though her breath was starting to come in shaky gasps and she was staring into the darkness of the cabin with a glazed and empty look to her eyes. At the top of the ladder, Dolohov knelt and reached down for her. "Here, let me take her." Bast passed the girl over to him and let his eyes linger on her as Dolohov pulled her close to his chest and whispered in her ear. Her panic lessened and she tried to take in forceful gasps of air.

Dolohov carried her over to the mattress and laid her down gently. As Bast came close he realised that Dolohov had changed into flannel pyjamas and had put a flannel nightgown and a pair of thick wool socks on Granger's lap. There was a second set of pyjamas on the other side of the mattress. He pointed to them and Bast picked them up and started changing.

"Get changed, Granger, don't want to damage your gown any further." He vanished the silk ties that had bound her hands together.

"I don't..."

"Get dressed." Dolohov said, gruffer this time.

"Fine." She pursed her lips and scooted off the mattress, stepping into the farthest corner of the loft where it was the darkest so they wouldn't see her. When she padded closer, Bast had also finished changing. "Now what?"

"Now we sleep. You're in the middle."

"I want to go home," she demanded, her arms braced on her hips.

"I want the pain-modification to go away. Seems we're at an _impasse_. Get in the bed."

She huffed but did as she was told. Bast didn't blame her. He had been fully dressed in formal robes but his feet and legs were still chilled. He couldn't imagine how cold she must have been in her costume. Dolohov settled down on his back and when Granger slipped under the thick fur blankets she stayed on the edge.

"Come here, girl," Dolohov said, holding out his arm to her.

"I'm fine here," she said, stubbornly.

"Bast isn't. Budge up and let him in."

She took a breath and started to speak but stopped herself. She inched her way a little further into the middle of the mattress. Bast knelt and crawled under the thick furs with her and let his body start to curl around her. She stiffened and wiggled away from him. She squeaked when she realised that manoeuvrer had put her within Dolohov's reach. He pulled her close against his body and moved her so her head lay on his shoulder. He glanced over her curls and jerked his head at Bast. Bast curled up behind her, trapping her between them. She squeaked again when he laid his hand on her hip.

"We're not going to hurt you," he murmured against the back of her neck.

She pressed her feet back against his leg and her toes were like ice even through her socks and his flannel trousers.

"Where are we?" she asked with a whisper.

"My cabin."

"What country is your cabin in?" she asked, her volume raising a bit with her agitation.

"A cold one."

Bast chuckled and tucked his hand further around her waist. As he was falling asleep, he felt her snuggle further into his embrace. He smiled. He didn't know what else Dolohov had planned but he was interested in finding out.


	88. 093 The Dark Lord

**Death Eater Express** , Day 31, Prompt:

The Dark Lord / Samhain Festival / a blood sacrifice / "If you go out into the woods tonight, you might get... eaten." / "Who the fuck taught you lot to party?" / "Did someone say Trick or Treat?"

 **Warnings: gore, human sacrifice, horrific deeds, Voldemort Wins AU**

word count: 1,697

Voldemort smiled his oily fake benevolent smile from the balcony podium that he'd arranged. Sirius jerked at his binding and growled under his breath, unable to help himself as he watched the man look down on all of his subjects.

"Welcome, welcome. The Dark Lord bids you welcome," he said. "I'm happy to see that many of you," he gestured to the chairs that Sirius and the other Order members were bound to, "were able to be subdued rather than killed. That wasn't true for your leader, however."

"No!" James shouted, struggling harder in his chair.

"Yes," Voldemort answered him. "Though Dumbledore was not the only casualty, he might be the one most missed, by all of you, I suspect. Well, except for the blood sacrifice."

Sirius froze in his chair where his hands had been digging at the ropes. He looked around wildly for his friends. He saw James nearby still struggling, Lily with blood matting her hair and a cut down her pretty face. She looked terrified. Remus was snarling quietly as he glared daggers up at the dark wizard. Sirius saw Emmeline, Dorcas, Sturgis, Kingsley, but not Marlene. Of course not, she'd gone down when the Death Eaters had captured him. And no Peter. Sirius could feel his eyes burning as he realised who else was missing. Alice, Frank. He could only hope that Augusta had fled with baby Neville. But unless Peter was able to take him... Sirius didn't want to think about it but one look at Lily's face seemed to cement his darkest fears. Harry, his little baby godson was missing. Maybe even dead. Sirius wanted to howl and scream.

"You see," Voldemort continued, though Sirius couldn't have told you if he'd said anything in the interim, "for the magic of the Samhain festival to come to full fruition, there must be a sacrifice and what better sacrifice than one that serves a dual purpose. Come forward, my Death Eaters."

The doors to the ballroom, which had been shut, opened and in strode lots of people in black formal robes. Sirius tried to track them, recognising some of their silver masks from the skirmishes they'd tangled in as each of the masked Death Eaters came to stand behind a chair of an Order Member. One face was unmasked. Fenrir Greyback stood in a ragged set of black robes, not nearly as decadent as the formal robes of the Death Eaters, and he came up behind Remus. He grinned evilly down at Remus and put his hands on his shoulders. Remus shuddered and tried to bite him.

Before Sirius could see if Remus succeeded, he felt hands come down on his own shoulders. He turned and looked back, wondering who was taking charge of him. He couldn't tell from the mask. He turned to see the mask he knew to be worn by Severus Snape standing behind Lily. There was a short Death Eater behind James that struck him as familiar but he couldn't figure out why.

"Reveal yourselves," Voldemort said. To his right was a single Death Eater that Sirius recognised with a single glance at the mask. Bellatrix and in her arms she held a bundle like a child. Sirius renewed his struggles and James gasped as well, coming to the same conclusion.

That bitch had Harry.

"Calm down, Siri," Regulus said from behind and above him, and Sirius turned around to see his brother in his Death Eater robes. He looked taller than Sirius remembered but those hazel-green eyes weren't as hard as he expected them to be. Regulus leaned down and whispered, "Please don't act out, we're supposed to kill you if you do." As he stood back straight, Sirius saw the short Death Eater behind James take off his mask and he felt his jaw drop at the sight. It was Peter. No, Wormtail.

Wormtail was grinning, an expression of cruelty on his face as he looked down and did something to James to make him turn around. What happened next seemed to come to Sirius in slow-moving fragments. James recognised Wormtail and started shouting and writhing in his chair. Wormtail pulled his wand, pointed it directly at James's face, and then...

Sirius couldn't seem to drag air in his lungs as Wormtail's spell mutilated his best friend. Lily screamed in horror but Snape put his hands down and over her mouth.

It took several long beats of his heart before Sirius could gasp and pull air into his lungs. "No..." he might have murmured but no other sound followed. He could feel tear tracks down his face and he knew his mouth was open, he could taste his tears as he stared at the slumped over corpse of James.

"Shh," Regulus whispered again. "Pay attention to the Dark Lord, Sirius, this is important."

Sirius dragged his attention away from James meeting Lily's terrified gaze in the process.

Voldemort's tsking was the sound that travelled past Sirius's erratic thundering heartbeat in his ears. "Well, that was unfortunate. I was hoping not to spill another drop of magical blood. Let his death be a warning to the rest of you. Your handler has permission to use deadly force if you misbehave. We don't want that, do we? So you will cooperate. We're going to have the blood sacrifice and then we'll continue with the ball that Abraxas and his sister have planned so diligently." He motioned for Bellatrix to precede him and they slowly walked down the stairs onto the ballroom floor. They approached a simple ritual circle made of salt that Sirius hadn't noticed before. Bellatrix laid her bundle down on the wooden altar and stepped back. Sirius could see Harry reaching out past the blanket, his fingers caught in her hair. She grimaced and tugged her hair free, giving the infant a dirty look.

"Don't do this, please," Sirius found himself saying as he stared in front of them. He knew Lily would have been begging if she were able but he doubted Snape had removed his hand. He felt the hands on his shoulders squeeze and dig into the muscles there. He twitched against the pain of it.

"Don't say anything else, Siri, please, I don't want to do that to you."

He wanted to turn and spit in his brother's face but his eyes were drawn to the horror in front of him. He'd witnessed Samhain and harvest moon sacrifices before, goats and sheep, and he knew they all had to be done with a dagger. He watched as Voldemort picked up the dagger and folded the blankets back, showing off more of the black tuft of hair that belonged to his godson. The moment before Voldemort brought the dagger to Harry seemed to drag on but rush by too quickly at the same time. At the first pierce of the blade and the sharp cry of the baby, Lily, mouth still covered, shouted and jerked and tried to get free.

"You shut that bitch up or I'll do it for you," Bellatrix hissed in Snape's direction. Sirius turned, unable to help his godson, to see Lily, who's muffled shout had grown hoarse, with one of Snape's hands over her mouth and the other on her throat, squeezing. She quieted and her eyes fluttered shut and Sirius didn't know if it was in death or if Snape had just caused her to fall unconscious.

The horrific shock and devastating pain of the situation crashed over Sirius when Harry's last feeble little cry died away and he hung his head in shame. Where was his anger? Why was he not fighting? He felt Reggie's hands heavy on his shoulders even as there was an inhuman snarl and the sound of cracking bone.

There was no full moon tonight, Sirius knew, but that knowledge didn't stop the sound of a human body transforming into a werewolf. "Both of you, out," Rodolphus's bassy voice told Fenrir, who was grinning maniacally from where Remus was half-shifted and in pain. Fenrir dragged Remus, chair and all, through the doors and outside. "Fair warning to the rest of the guests," Rodolphus said louder to the Brethren and what remained of the Order. "If you go out into the woods tonight, you might get... eaten."

Voldemort turned and addressed them again but Sirius couldn't hear him. Instead, he stared at the lifeless little body of his godson as tears and snot slipped down his face. Reggie pulled him up and directed him out of the room into a guest bedroom down the hall.

"You need to snap out of it, Siri," his brother said. When Sirius didn't respond, Reggie slapped him across the face. It was enough to make him blink and look up at his younger brother. "You need to wash your face and get dressed. There's... there's a slave-type collar that I need to put on you, all right?" Sirius didn't answer. Instead, he did as he was told and when he was dressed in the formal robes Regulus provided, he knelt, tipped his head, and bared his neck for his brother.

Regulus escorted him back out into the ballroom where the Death Eater Brethren and wives had gathered. The bloody altar was still there, as was the blood that had pulled on the floor underneath James's chair, but the bodies and the chairs were gone. The Order members, what was left of them, stood around, dolorous. Subdued.

One of the Death Eaters that Sirius didn't know chuckled and taunted them, "Who the fuck taught you lot to party?"

Another approached Lily who was staring with immense concentration at James's bloodstain. "What's it the Muggles say? Trick or Treat?" he laughed uproariously and Sirius wanted to find that ceremonial dagger and give the Death Eater a bloody smile to show how humorous the situation was.

Alcestis Malfoy stepped out onto the balcony, her wand pointed at the back of the room to start the charmed quartet to give them the semblance of a party. "Did someone say Trick or Treat?" she asked as she descended the stairs, her cultured tones ringing out into the room, "Don't be so uncouth."


End file.
